Unsinkable
by Gingersoup
Summary: After a fight gone wrong in the Department of Mysteries, sworn enemies Draco and Hermione are thrown into a mysterious pensive-like portal and come out the other side onto the RMS Titanic. In a race against time and without their wands, the unlikely duo will have to fight against the binds of their new identities as well as their animosity toward each other in order to survive.
1. Chapter 1

" _You,"_ hissed Hermione Granger, thrusting her wand out from underneath the folds of her robes. The frigid air of the Ministry's Hall of Prophecy raised goosebumps on her forearm. She'd never have expected to end up back here, especially after the Ministry tightened the security following You-Know-Who's last break-in... Yet here she was, shivering among the hundreds of towering shelves full of dusty, glowing orbs. Well, the ones that hadn't been destroyed in their last chase.

She glared hard at the back of the familiar silhouette, reminding herself to keep a cool head. Harry was only a few aisles away; they had decided to split up to try and find the trespasser quickly. She just had to signal to him without alarming the Slytherin… or anyone else who may have been lurking nearby. Though the Ward she had personally placed on the Hall had only sensed one intruder, she personally knew of several different ways to fool such a spell, and didn't intend to lower her guard any time soon.

Draco Malfoy turned around, sighing. The sight of his face beneath an upturned Death Eater mask- worn almost as a hat- made her blood boil.

"You weren't supposed to be here, Granger," he said, quickly drawing his own wand.

"I figured you'd be on _their_ side," Hermione spat, outstretched hand trembling, "but I didn't think you'd actually be getting your hands dirty. Why on earth are you here?"

"Expelliarmus!" He hissed in response, a blue light emitting from the tip of his wand. Hermione gasped in horror as her wand was plucked from her fingers. She watched helplessly as it flew through the air and into his waiting hand. Merlin! How had he cast that spell so quickly? Moreover, how had she let him?

And now he had her wand, and she was grasping nothing but air. Hermione Granger was suddenly at Draco Malfoy's mercy. She watched him cautiously, taking a few steps back.

The grin that would have typically overrun his face after such a victorious move against the Brightest Witch of her Age was nowhere to be seen. Hermione latched onto this fact, hoping that she could stall for time until Harry or Ron could spot him.

"What, Malfoy?" she pressed, "not in the mood for a fight? How very out of character for you."

"I have a mission." He stated plainly, not taking the bait, "where are Potter and Weasley? I know they're here."

"They aren't," she lied quickly, "they're in the … Time Room… looking for you."

"Hm," Draco said, eyes narrowing, "I don't believe you."

With a surprising speed, wand still pointed at her in a non-verbal threat, he crossed the space between them. Draco reached out and grabbed her wrist, pulling her roughly toward his. She was about to yelp out in surprise when his gloved hand clamped firmly down on her mouth.

"You're going to come with me," the Slytherin said, his grey eyes bearing down into hers, "you're going to be my shield, and you're going to do it while keeping your fucking mouth shut."

Hermione glared up at her captor, a spark of hatred flaring throughout her body. She realized then that she had never been so close to the young Malfoy, and she had never been touched by him either. The thought of it made her skin crawl. His gloved hand was locked around her wrist, and she wondered if there was any way to get out of this mess.

" _Do you understand?_ " He asked, speaking slowly, as if she was dumb. She wanted to bite down onto his finger until her teeth tore through the glove and pierced his skin… but instead Hermione nodded.

"Good," he said, finally leaning back but not relinquishing his iron hold on her. "If you do exactly as I say, I won't have to kill you."

Such a statement from the blonde prat would have previously made her burst out into uncontrollable laughter, but now, as she stood shivering in the cursed air, under the deadly serious gaze of a Draco Malfoy she had never seen before… She realized he was telling the truth.

A flash of Sirius's pale face, only a few rooms away, disappearing forever behind the veil floated through her mind. She winced at the painful memory, knowing full well that she had to navigate this situation carefully. Harry couldn't lose anyone else he loved in this Merlin Forbidden place, and she certainly didn't plan on going out like this either.

"Hermione?" Harry's voice called. Draco looked sharply towards his voice, crouching low and pulling the Gryffindor girl with him.

"Did you find her?" She heard Ron ask, accompanied by cautious footsteps. Her heart fluttered, they were getting closer!

"No."

"Blood hell, you think she's been taken!?"

"Hermione? Where are you!?" Harry called out again, more alarmed than the first time. She itched to call out in response, but a sudden jab at her temple made her think twice. Draco's wand was prodding pointedly against her skull. Hermione could practically feel the vibrations of the unforgivable curse waiting to be released upon her.

"Don't. Say. A. Word," Draco growled, hoisting her up with him and quickly making his way down their aisle, dragging her along with him. She realized that this was her chance to make noise without seeming like she meant to…

Her feet fumbled beneath her and she dropped to her knees, thumping painfully (and hopefully loudly) against the freezing concrete.

"You stupid mudblood," Draco hissed, hoisting her back up by her robes and running even quicker down the aisles of Prophecies and toward the door leading to the exit.

"Harry!" Ron cried in the distance, "I heard something! Over there!"

"Hermione!?" Harry cried, his voice echoed through the clammy air along with the pounding footsteps which marked the boys' pursuit.

Draco turned sharply, yanking Hermione's wrist painfully along the way as he dipped and dodged through the maze of glowing orbs. He bumped into one of them, knocking a prophecy from its place. It shattered on the floor, extinguishing the blue flame in a puff of smoke. The crash was deafeningly loud.

"She's there! Someone has her!" Ron cried, his lit wand illuminating the two of them as they retreated.

"Fuck," Draco cursed under his breath, not looking back. A curse flew by them, grazing by Hermione close enough to ruffle her hair. She bit back a horrified scream as the orbs next to her exploded on impact.

"What the bloody hell are you doing?!" Harry cried behind them.  
"Trying to stop him!"

"And kill her in the process?!"

She could feel Draco pull her even closer to him to the point where she was almost tripping on his feet. Once they were at the ancient door leading into the main corridor, the young Death Eater suddenly froze and spun on his toe. He maneuvered her in front of him, holding her at arms length with his wand pointed over her shoulder and at her friends.

"Don't take another bloody step," Draco growled, "I'm serious."

Harry and Ron skidded to a halt, eyes wide at the realization of who her captor was.

"Malfoy!?" Ron gasped.

"Let her go, you snake!" Harry hissed.

"Boys, don't worry about me. Go get help," she pleaded.

"You're barmy!" Ron cried.

"We aren't leaving you here with him," Harry said, taking a determined step toward her.

"Harry, no!" Hermione stressed and an instant later, felt Draco's wand pressed roughly against the back of her skull. She sucked in a distressed breath and Harry halted once more.

"Drop your wands or say goodbye," Draco warned, "I'm not afraid to kill her."

A tense moment passed between the three of them, and the air seemed to swirl around the room as the boys sized up the severity of the situation.

"Bloody hell," Ron cursed under his breath. He looked at Harry, who looked back at him. They seemed to converse with only their eyes. After another few moments, the two boys let their wands clatter loudly to the stone floor, powerless to do anything at the cost of their best friend's life.

"Kick them away." Draco demanded. Neither Gryffindor moved. _"NOW!"_ He bellowed.

They reluctantly kicked their wands, which rolled away haplessly into the darkness.

Just as quickly as Draco had halted their escape, he started it back up. He yanked her backwards and out into the hallway. She wanted to break away, but the threat of her own death lingered in her brain. How could this be happening? She wondered. What on earth was his mission? What could the Dark Lord possibly want from the Department of Mysteries again?

He dragged her down the dark corridor, the illuminated tip on his wand leading the way. As soon as the ancient door creaked shut behind them, they heard what was clearly Ron and Harry searching for their wands in the darkness, accompanied by no fewer than twelve prophecies smashing to the floor and roughly the same number of swears.

Draco dragged Hermione roughly to one of the first doors in the corridor. "Alohomora!" Draco cast hurriedly, seeming to sense that his time was limited. The ancient, rotted door slowly opened with a sound strangely akin to a death rattle.

"In here," Draco hissed and Hermione's heart dropped into her stomach as he pushed her into the inky darkness. The Department of Mysteries was the most dangerous place a wizard or witch could find themselves in. Each room was filled with curious, wondrous, and- _more often than not-_ deadly magical mysteries. She swallowed hard, her mind running through the hundreds of scenarios the room could hold for them, almost certainly ending in their death.

"Malfoy, you _must_ realize that this is a bad idea," she whimpered as he shut the door quietly behind them, his lumos fading away. They were swallowed by the darkness, and Hermione felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. She could practically _taste_ the magic in this room. It was a deep and ancient magic, more powerful than she had ever felt. She could feel it drumming through her heart and flowing through her blood.

"Be quiet, Granger," he whispered, clamping his hand back down against her mouth. She strained hard to listen past the pounding of her heart and the buzzing in her brain. As she sat still, pressed against Draco with his wand still digging painfully into her temple, her eyes began to adjust to the darkness. Soon, she began to make out shapes glowing dimly. There were strange looking structures, looking almost like… oversized bird baths? They almost looked like the kind that her mother had placed in the garden for the little finches that lived in the area to cool off in. Were they pensieves? They looked quite similar. They lined the room, which stretched much farther than she had expected. The room wasn't small at all. It was long, but skinny. _Like a coffin,_ she realized with a painful swallow. She had to do something. This was bad. Bad. Bad. Bad.

Panicking, Hermione bit down on Draco's hand, which had loosened slightly as he strained to listen for Harry and Ron's footsteps. The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth and he launched away from her, cursing loudly.

"Fuck! You bloody BIT ME!"

She wasn't sure what had compelled her to do it, but every instinct woven into her being had been screaming at her to get out of there right then and there… Even if that meant taking the chance that Malfoy would hurt her, she somehow felt that was still the safer option.

"I heard something! In there!"

Ron's voice. A small triumphant smile graced her lips.

As the boys' footsteps approached, Draco spun away from glaring at Hermione, quickly wiping the small spots of blood from his hand as he began hurriedly casting spells to lock and reinforce the door.

Sensing a fleeting opening, Hermione quietly crossed the room before launching herself at Draco. She managed to get her hand around his wand, but she was quickly knocked back as Draco deftly slipped her own wand out of his sleeve and brandished it at her.

The ancient door gave a sudden lurch, accompanied by a low grunt that told Hermione Ron must have thrown himself against it. Thinking quickly, Hermione began to shout. "He's used a locking charm and an immovab-"

As soon as he realized what Hermione was saying, Draco leaped toward her in an attempt to cover her mouth once more. In the darkness, he tripped over an uneven patch on the floor and barreled into his classmate instead, cutting off her shouting with a loud gasp.

Off balance, Draco's momentum was enough to spin both of them the few meters remaining to the nearest waist-high basin. Hermione pushed back against him, attempting in vain to right herself, but Draco had a death grip on her robes. With one final stumble, he fell backward into the wide basin, yanking her back with him. With a last gasp, Hermione fell headlong after Draco into the large container of murky liquid.

The expected splash never came. Instead, it felt as if they had fallen headfirst into a pit. Hermione was overcome with a sense of vertigo as all the air rushed from her lungs, the terrifying feeling of freefall overcoming her. In mid-air, they continued their tussle for their wands, grabbing at one another. Amidst their battle, Hermione saw flashes of light and shadow in the murky air, and heard random snippets of sound. It was as if screams and whispers had been tossed in a blender and poured into her ears. Suddenly, Draco's iron grip on her released and she felt him being sucked roughly away from her. And with him, both of their wands.  
What was happening? Where were they going? What had Draco Malfoy gotten them into?

She squeezed her eyes shut and curled her body in on itself as the whirling colors and sounds and rushing wind spun around her faster and faster until it was a cacophony of sensory overload - Oh Merlin, she was going to vomit!

. . .

It took her a moment to realize that the world had gone silent. Ears ringing, she opened her eyes, blinking rapidly as she attempted to dispel the fuzzy bits of her vision and reorient herself. It took a few moments for her to register that she was in the back of a car. The white and black interior smelled new, like fresh leather and new rubber. She could tell right away that this car was expensive.

But it wasn't just any sort of fancy car, she realized, blinking away the spots from her vision… This was one of those classic cars from the start of the industrial revolution. One of the first models ever produced, she realized. She recognized the interior from the numerous car shows her dad had dragged her to as a child. But what business did an outdated car like this have being connected to a basin in the Ministry of Magic? Had it been a portkey? And more importantly, where was Draco Malfoy with their _wands_?

The car door next to her opened, and she jumped in her seat, yelping in horror.  
"Come on now," a feminine, slightly raspy voice came, and Hermione looked down to find a stern looking woman. Her hair was pinned back into tight, decorative curls beneath a cartoonishly large lilac hat. Despite the impatient look the woman was giving her, Hermione didn't respond... She was too busy trying to wrap her brain around the woman's appearance. Her dress was peculiar, and not just a wizarding-world peculiar. As in, completely irrational, given the current year. The ruffled coat was cinched tightly around her small frame, giving her the appearance of one of those historical victorian wives.  
"I'm not going to ask again," the woman snapped, eyes darting about nervously.

"I'm … not... feeling very well," Hermione murmured, bringing her hands up to rub nervously at her face.

"What are you doing?! You're smudging your lipstick!" she reprimanded and Hermione glanced at her fingers, noting distantly that they were covered in a sickly red shade.

 _I don't remember putting on lipstick,_ Hermione thought dumbly, still reeling from her drop into this strange situation.

"What's all this?" A girl with kind eyes and a white bonnet popped into view next to the older woman, "Are you feeling alright, Annabelle?" A spark of concern lit her freckled face.

"She's fine, Lottie. Go tend to our luggage. Make sure none of those degenerates steal anything," she snapped back, causing Hermione to wonder distantly who Annabelle was.

"Yes, madame," Lottie said before dashing away.

"To be on a ship for seven days with so many of _those_ people," the woman shuddered, shaking out a handkerchief and dabbing dramatically at her forehead.

"To be on a _what_?" Hermione asked, her muddled thoughts pulling through enough to register that they seemed to be going on a journey.

"For heaven's sake, Annabelle, what has gotten into you?" The lady hissed, reaching out to pull Hermione from the cabin of the automobile. The Gryffindor girl stumbled on teetering heels down to the stone ground, the salty smell of the ocean along with the acidic punch of gasoline, coal, and new paint blending to create the strangest scent greeting her. Her stomach churned unpleasantly. Why were they calling her Annabelle? That wasn't her name.

A blaring horn interrupted her whirling thoughts- it was so loud it shook her down to her bones and rattled her teeth. She turned her head in alarm and found herself staring up at the largest, grandest ship she had ever seen. The black and white hull glimmered in the sunlight, the four golden smokestacks jutted proudly into the clear blue sky and hundreds of people were milling about on the deck, waving and laughing. Her heart sank. She knew this ship. How could she not? She had grown up in muggle London, and the image of this ship had been burned into her brain from all of the books, shows, and documentaries that surrounded her as a child.

It was the RMS Titanic. The ship that was doomed to sink on the fourth day of its seven day journey with 1,500 souls still trapped inside… and she was about to board it, somehow. For what was certainly not the first time since she was introduced to the world of Magic, Hermione found herself at an absolute loss of logical thought. She swayed on her feet, suddenly going pale.

"Oh, heavens. She's going to faint. Horace, help me get her back into the car," the woman said, and Hermione dimly registered a tall, looming figure of a man approach her.

It was then that the contents of her stomach from that night's dinner found its way up her esophagus and onto her pretty, unfamiliar high heels. Shortly after, her world went dark.

* * *

 _ **A/N**_ _: Hello all! New year, new fic, new me. This is an alt universe, obviously… There's going to be a big change in Draco's story line. Also I know Hermione didn't actually put a ward in the Ministry of Magic to detect any intruders, but I didn't think it was too much of a stretch to imagine she would. I don't want to give away too much about why Draco was lurking around the Hall of Prophecies, so you'll have to read and find out. ;)_

 _I guess what I'm trying to say is please be kind when it comes to deviations from the canon storyline/rules! I really had to make stuff stretch to get them on the Titanic in a way that felt borderline realistic._

 _Also this will definitely be following certain plot points from the Titanic movie, but this fic will subvert the moments and transform them into something else. You can look at this fic almost as an homage to the film, but not a reboot/copy. I thought that would be a fun way to tackle this fic! Best of both worlds._

 _Also I bet you all know where Draco ended up, but I want to hear your thoughts/theories. leave me some words :) You can also ask questions but I won't answer if they're gonna spoil you!_


	2. Chapter 2

Draco Malfoy had never been a particularly claustrophobic person, but as he found himself being pushed roughly along a never ending line of people…. especially after having been dropped roughly into this strange, too busy, too loud world, he felt trapped. The sun was impossibly bright, the taste of the air was simultaneously salty as well as metallic. Draco couldn't help but gag. Revolting.

Where on earth was he? What forsaken place had that basin dropped them in? A massive ship sat to his left and he glared up at it, squinting in the sunlight, trying to get a good view of the muggle monstrosity. He looked around him, trying to gauge where- or even _when_ \- he had found himself. The muggles around him wore strange clothing, tattered and dirty, but quite clearly nothing from his own era. He had seen the muggles that lived their day to day in London, they wore white sneakers with rubber soles, sleek denim trousers and tailored, muted tops beneath shiny coats dawned with zippers. It was a tacky look, but also quite recognizable. These clothes, on the other hand, these people… They were different. They weren't from his time.

Draco stood upon a coal-dusted port, in leather shoes that were falling apart at the seams. He looked at his hands and gasped, they were covered in filth. The typically white crescents of his nails were caked in grime and yellowed from neglect. He had absolutely not fallen into the pensieve-like portal with hands like _this._ Someone behind him shoved forward, almost knocking Malfoy into the family in front of him.

"Give me some bloody space, filthy muggles," he growled and shoved back at the sweaty travelers pushing into him at all sides. They scoffed and drew their luggage tighter into themselves, throwing dirty looks his way. He didn't respond, he simply wrinkled his nose at their smell.

A strong, heavy hand pressed into his shoulder and he shrugged it off, looking in alarm to the stranger who had touched him. A towering man with a thick, red beard and a dirt covered visage glared at him.

"I don't think ye should be talking to people like that, Nicholas," the man grumbled in a lilting scottish accent.

"Don't touch me, you bloody freak," he snapped and the man looked at him in confusion.

"Are ye feeling alright?" he asked, peering closer at Draco's face, "You're not getting sick, are ye?"

"Leave me the hell alone," Draco snapped as he pawed the unfamiliar clothes for his wand… He couldn't find it anywhere. Panic was beginning to set in. Granger must have taken them from him in their tussle after they fell in. His stomach churned, _Granger._ She and her bloody friends found him lurking around the Hall of Prophecies. How she had even known he was there was as much a mystery as any that the Department held. He clenched and unclenched his fists.. The second he found her-

"Nicholas," the Scottish man warned, jerking Draco out of his scheming thoughts and turning him to look at him. In any other case of a stranger handling him so roughly, Draco would have perhaps cursed the man. But he didn't have a wand, and this man was more of a beast, really. He was quite taller than the young wizard; his hands easily eclipsed Draco's entire skull. He swallowed roughly.

"If they think yer sick, they'll turn ye away. They'll turn _us_ away. All of the work we've done will've been fer nothin'," the man stressed, and Draco blinked rapidly, trying to wrap his brain around the situation.

"What are you talking about?" Draco snapped, "You aren't making any sense."

"The Titanic, lad," the man said, rapping his thick knuckles on Draco's forehead, "we're going to the New World. Remember?"

Draco reeled, the name Titanic rung a bell, but he wasn't sure why. He had never cared much for Muggle Studies, in fact, the whole class had been a joke to him. In years previous, the young Malfoy had paid some Ravenclaw plebian to do his assignments.

"The New World?"

"America, mate," the man said and a grin stretched across his sooty face. "We're goin' to make our fortune."

Draco gazed up at the towering ship that he would be aboard in a few minutes. He was going to America.

"Fucking brilliant," Draco cursed.

. . .

Hermione awoke to the slight smell of brewing tea. Her eyes cracked open to discover an impossibly ornate ceiling, etched with golden designs encompassing a stained glass chandelier. _What?_ She rubbed at her face, sitting up in the unfamiliar bed. Where was she?

She was about to call out for someone, but the room around her rumbled and jerked roughly to the side, a distant horn blaring loudly. The chandelier swung above her, tinkling ominously. Her heart stopped.

 _No,_ she thought desperately, suddenly remembering where she was.

 _This is the Titanic!_ Her frantic mind registered. Draco had knocked the two of them into a mysterious basin filled with glowing, dusky liquid while running from Harry and Ron… He was surely somewhere on this ship as well, and probably with both of their wands… And this voyage was destined to end at the bottom of the Atlantic ocean in a few days.

Hermione threw the duvet cover to the side and swung her legs off of the bed, a sense of urgency overtaking her. She had to get off of the ship before it left the port! She stood up, swaying gently as stars bloomed in her vision. She looked down and discovered that she was donned in nothing but a frilly nightgown. She sighed inwardly but knew she couldn't just sit idly by on a doomed vessel. Maybe they hadn't left port yet, maybe the jerk she had felt were the boilers starting up or the engines revving.. Maybe there was still a chance to escape!

She crossed to the end of her room, throwing up the ornate door and rushing into a larger sitting room. The kind looking maid that she had seen at the port straightened up after she finished smoothing out the tablecloth on a small, round table covered in tea cups and pastries. Hermione's muddled brain dimly registered that the young girls name was Lottie, and she seemed to be Hermione's own personal maid.

"Are you feeling alright, Miss?" The young girl squeaked after taking in Hermione's panicked expression, "After your… _stomach upset_ , you passed out right on the road! You gave your mother quite the fright. She should be back soon, but you should sit down… I've made you some tea."

"We have to get out of here," Hermione barked, crossing the room and grabbing the young girls hand. She was going to take Lottie with her. She didn't deserve to die. "This ship is going to sink."

"Wha-?" She exclaimed, but not before Hermione pulled her away from the steaming pot of tea and out of their room. "Annabelle! You're in your night dress! You musn't-"

"We don't have time!" The gryffindor girl stressed, bare feet slapping down the corridor, passing women and men donned in furs, ornate dresses, and suits. The first class passengers looked quite horrified at the vision of a young girl in her nightgown. She realized how strange she must've looked, but she didn't care.

"Where are we going?!" Lottie cried, distress seeping into the young maids voice. Hermione didn't answer. There wasn't any time to explain. The witch wasn't sure how to get to the ship's deck, but she figured that if she went against the flow of guests making their way to their rooms, she would find the exit. She pushed and shoved her way through families and carts of luggage, all the while towing the alarmed maid.

"What on God's green earth!?" An older man in a top hat exclaimed, adjusting his bifocal as they ran past him. Hermione finally found herself breaking out of the maze of corridors and into the main lobby- arching ceilings and ornate chandeliers hanging above them, a testament to the wealth and craftsmanship of the biggest man-made machine. Hermione would have stopped to gawk at the beauty of the ship, but the nagging voice in the back of her head kept her pushing forward. She took the steps of the grandiose staircase two at a time and finally launched herself through a pair of large doors and out onto the ship's deck. Hermione paused, blinking in the bright sunlight, her loose hair whipping in the wind.

"Please, Miss!" Lottie's voice carried over to her as she tried to pull Hermione back inside. "People are staring!"

" _Oh no,_ " she breathed as she approached the side of the deck, leaning over to peer down the side of the massive ship's hull. About 50 feet below, the ocean waters were splashing roughly against the Titanic's side. They were already sailing at an alarming speed. Hermione reeled back, gripping at the safety rails for support. The weight of her situation was fully settling on her shoulders.

She was too late. They had already left port and were on their doomed journey.

" _No, no, no, no,"_ Hermione whispered, frustrated tears filling her eyes. Her knees buckled below her and she rested her head against the cool metal of the guardrails, sucking in deep gulps of salty ocean air. What was she going to do? She was trapped.

"Miss?" She felt Lottie's gentle hand on her back, "I think you must've had a nightmare. Let's get back into bed and I'll summon the ships' doctor. I'm sure he'll have something to sedate you-"

"No!" Hermione exclaimed and stood suddenly, wiping at her tears with the back of her hands. She mustered up the strength to give Lottie a reassuring smile. Suddenly all of the horror stories of women in this era being deemed 'hysterical' and being quite literally lebotomized or drugged out of their minds flashed through her brain. "I'm alright. I- I think you were right… It was a nightmare."

Hermione trailed off, noticing for the first time the amount of lingering gazes on her. She looked down at her state of undress and felt self conscious- despite the fact that the gown covered more skin than her typical clothes did. She drew her arms across her chest and shivered slightly.

"Everything alright here?" A man in an official-looking black uniform approached. He had kind eyes and a thick, white beard. Hermione blinked, glancing up at his cap, which dawned the crest of the ship above a shimmering, golden brim. She noticed several medals and ribbons pinned above his coat pocket, and three men stood at attention behind him. This must have been the captain. Hermione stood motionless, unsure of what to say.

"Yes, Captain," Lottie said, coming to her rescue and tilting her head in a light curtsey, "sorry for the commotion. Annabelle just had a bit of a fright after a nightmare that the ship was…." She trailed off, blushing furiously.

"Going to sink?" The decorated man supplied and gave the maid a trusting wink, "It's quite a normal anxiety. I assure you there is nothing to be afraid of, Miss Annabelle."

 _That isn't my name,_ Hermione thought bitterly. She wasn't sure who's identity she had slipped into, nor where Annabelle was at the present, but she knew that she would never be this person. She was Hermione Granger, the brightest witch of her age… With or without her wand.

"Get this child a blanket," The captain ordered the officer flanking his right, "it's quite cold outside with these atlantic winds."

The man rushed away and Hermione trembled slightly, goosebumps erupting on her skin.

"Thank you, Captain," she mumbled, trying her very best to keep her emotions in check. She couldn't keep running around, crying that the sky was falling. She would be locked up in her room on the doctors orders. She simply couldn't have that.

"It's alright, dear. And you can call me Edward," he soothed, his eyes crinkling in a way that reminded her so much of Dumbledore it took her breath away. She wanted to cry again.

"Here we are!" A voice came, followed by a thick fleece blanket draping over her shoulders. It immediately warmed her up and she gave the officer a weak smile.

"Sorry to be such trouble," she said, very much regretting her outburst. She was in this world now, whether she liked it or not. She had to play by the rules.

"Let's get back, shall we?" Lottie whispered, wrapping her arm gently around Hermione's shoulders.

"Alright," she conceded and nodded. They curtseyed slightly and made their way back down to her quarters, her head bowed in shame.

. . .

" _Excuse_ me, what do you think you're doing?" Draco asked the Italian passenger currently placing his luggage on the top bunk. _His_ top bunk. It was bad enough that he had to sleep in such disturbingly cramped quarters. He wasn't about give the better bed to some filthy muggle.

"Vaffanculo," the Italian man spat at him and continued in broken english "This is _mine._ I get here before you."

"Nicholas, leave it alone will ye?" His travelling companion, whom he now knew was named Hamish, sighed from his upper bunk across from the Italian passenger clambering up onto his own. "Just take the one below me."

"And be crushed in the middle of the night when it gives out under all that weight? No thank you," Draco snapped and turned his attention back to the mediterranean man, _"_ _Muoviti, o ti farò del male."_

 _That_ made him freeze, but instead of cowering in fear, like Draco had hoped, he simply turned to him and laughed in the young Malfoy's face.

" _You_ going to hurt _me?_ " He gasped through his chuckles, his accent almost completely muffling his words. He pretended to shrivel up in fear, trembling on top of the sheets, _"Oh mio dio, per favore no!"_ His bunk mate, another Italian- much younger, probably just a little brother- joined him in laughing.

Draco ground his teeth together as the two men continued to taunt him in their language. His Italian was good after the countless summers spent in Sicily at his family's seaside estate, so the taunts got under his skin even more. He wished he had his wand. He would curse them all into oblivion.

"You and I can trade," Hamish said, jumping swiftly from top bunk and throwing his belongings onto the lower bunk. "We don't need to bloomin' fight about every little thing today."

"Fine," Draco fumed, finally breaking his glare away from the infuriating foreign man. He threw his stupid suitcase full of foul smelling clothes onto the top bunk. Four men sleeping in one room, he scoffed. If only his mother could see these conditions. She would have an absolute meltdown.

"Let's go get some fresh air," Hamish cautioned, "I think the tight space might be gettin' to ye, Nick."

"Oh! You think?" Draco asked, voice filled with venom. He wasn't supposed to be on this bloody ship. He wasn't supposed to be someone named Nicholas. He was Draco Malfoy, and he had been on an important mission before that stupid muggle-born girl ruined everything. This was all her fault.

On the way up the third class decks, Draco caught his reflection in a decorative mirror. He paused, taking in his appearance.

He let out a sigh of relief when he realized that he still looked the same as always. His skin looked as pale as usual, although his typically slicked back hair was wavy and loose, falling in medium length tresses to frame his face…. But thankfully, it was still just as platinum blonde. He felt a little better as he followed Hamish up the cramped passageway and into the sunlight. At least his face and body were still his.

. . .

Hermione held onto the bedpost, holding her breath and wincing as Lottie cinched the corset up her torso. After her little meltdown, the kind maid had taken her back to her room and given her a cup of tea. It actually had done a little to soothe her nerves. She just needed a little bit of time to get her wits about her before she could make a plan to retrieve her wand and somehow bring Draco back with her to turn him in… That is, _before_ the ship would hit the iceberg and sink. Malfoy had fully gone off the deep end: he was officially a Death Eater. The mask he had dawned in the Hall of Prophecy flashed through her head. A slight shiver coursed through her body. He was no longer the Draco Malfoy that started petty squabbles in the courtyard. This was a Death Eater who had threatened to _kill_ her.

"I won't tell your mother," Lottie said, drawing Hermione out of her inner turmoil.

"Hm?" She asked, confused as to why the girl was suddenly talking about Hermione's mum.

"About the little.. Adventure we had this morning," the maid explained, voice growing softer. It was then that Hermione understood. The severe looking older woman that had been snapping at her when she first landed in this time… That was supposed to be her mother! Well, Annabelle's mother.

"Thank you," she breathed, feeling relieved. She wasn't sure what Annabelle's mother's temper could be like, but from the glimpse of it she saw in the port, she wanted to avoid any further conflict.

"Well then, how pleased you must be to finally get to spend quality time with Winston!" Lottie continued, changing the subject as she continued to constrict Hermione's airways. Hermione had no idea who this Winston person was, but she decided to play it safe. Opting with general answers was her only solution.

"Quite happy," Hermione lied, gritting her teeth as the final lace was cinched and tied shut. "Will he be joining us at lunch?"

"No, don't be silly," she giggled, "He's waiting for you in New York City, of course… Ah, I can't wait till someone asks for my hand. You must be so tickled."

Hermione's eyebrows raised in alarm. Was she… Engaged? She shook her head. He wasn't her fiance. He was Annabelle's fiance.

Once she was all dressed, Lottie guided her to the vanity and began the painstaking process of putting up her hair. As the maid brushed and braided and pinned, Hermione's mouth dropped open. She had never seen anything like this hairstyle; the regal and complex updo felt as though it had hopped straight out of a history book. And this was just for lunch!

"Thank you," she breathed, "You've done such an amazing job."

Lottie blushed beneath her freckles, but quickly set about tidying up. She began making the bed. "Thank you, Miss. I'll let you do your rouge, since I know you enjoy it."

Two swift knocks came at the door and- before Hermione could even tell the guest to enter- it swung open to reveal the woman who was supposedly her mother.

"You can finish that later. Leave us," the woman snapped and the young maid jumped, quickly relinquishing the sheets before scurrying out the door.

"Why do you speak to her that way?" Hermione asked before her brain could catch up with her lips. Her mother turned to look at her in the reflection of the mirror. Merlin, what had she done?

"Why do _you_ speak to _me_ this way?" She said, voice cutting. "How I speak to our Help is none of your concern."

"Sorry," Hermione whispered, remembering who she was. She wasn't Hermione Granger for the time being. She had to play the part of Annabelle.

"I heard the most peculiar rumors during tea time this morning while you were asleep after your little… fainting spell," the woman began, and Hermione cringed internally, "...of a girl running around in her night dress this morning, crying like a loon in front of Captain Smith."

"Oh really?" Hermione asked, busying herself with her makeup box. She opened the delicate lid to find compacts and tubes of familiar looking substances. Makeup couldn't be so different from back home in her time, could it?

"You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?" Her mother edged forward, eyes glaring, searching for any crack in her daughter's facade. Hermione kept her cool as she uncapped a lipstick. She applied the deep red pigment to her lower lip before rubbing both lips together with a smack.

"Not a thing, but that does sound quite strange," she breathed, moving on to blush.

"Don't think I haven't noticed your change in attitude, young lady," her mother quipped. "If you embarrass me at lunch… You will regret it."

"What do you think they'll serve today, anyway?" Hermione asked, veering the subject to something lighter.

"Tell me you won't embarrass me," the woman demanded, still glaring at her in the reflection. Hermione finally looked the woman in the eyes, sighing.

"I won't embarrass you," she relented, clenching her fists beneath the vanity table.

"Good." That seemed to please the hawk-like woman. She turned on her heel and began to make her way out of the room. "Horace will escort you once you're ready. Hopefully this time you can keep your food down."

Once the door was shut again, all of the air that Hermione had been holding in her lungs escaped. She deflated like a balloon, leaning forward to rest her forehead on her hands. She could tell maneuvering around that woman would be a nightmare.

After a few moments, she resumed applying her makeup. She carefully looked at her reflection, watching as the face she had seen in mirrors all her life had suddenly become transformed into someone in an oil portrait hung in museums. She pondered this, how did she look the same now as she had in her time and they just accepted her as Annabelle? Was this part of the ancient magic? Or did Annabelle actually look like Hermione?

She stood up suddenly, dashing over to the small collection of papers she had seen tucked away in the desk by the window. She fingered through them, looking for any official documents that could give her a clue as to who she was in this world. She sifted through dozens of papers: wills, letters, declarations….There! Her fingers paused on a small, official looking card.o

At the top in bold letters: _**ANNABELLE PAIGE,**_ and below it: _ **DATE OF BIRTH- SEPTEMBER 19, 1896.**_ And below it all… a grainy black and white photo of her face. Hermione sat back in shock, she had dropped into the person that was the exact same age that she had been back in the Department of Mysteries. It hadn't been random… and given the photo, she had simply taken over this poor woman's life. Annabelle Paige had been snuffed from existence and Hermione Granger had taken her spot in the conveniently shaped hole she left behind. She suspected that whoever Draco had replaced had the same birthdate as him as well, if not a very close date.

A knock at the door. Hermione gasped and shoved the passport right into her corset.

"I'm coming!" she cried, walking over to swing open the door. An older gentlemen with a crooked nose, a nasty looking scar on the side of his face, and a distinctly displeased expression greeted her, "Sorry for the wait."

He didn't respond, he simply motioned his hand for her to continue on. Hermione walked past him, cringing slightly at his lack of conversation. She doubted she could befriend him like she had Lottie.

. . .

Draco shoved the meager tray of beans and bread away, shaking his head in disgust.

"Let me guess, now you're not goin' to eat?" Hamish asked, rolling his eyes.

"This filth? No thanks. I'll starve." He snapped, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring around at all of the steerage passengers eating and talking jovially. Pathetic.

"You've really been actin' strange and talkin' strange," his companion said, giving him a long and hard look before tearing off a piece of his roll and dipping it into his vegetable soup. "Complainin' about everythin', fightin' strangers… speakin' other languages? It's almost like yer a different person."

Draco huffed in annoyance. He wished that Hamish had been less observant. For a brief moment, he considered telling the man everything; the whole truth of how he ended up in this stupid dinghy. Even though he had tuned out of all muggle history lessons, he knew that muggles and magic didn't blend. They had a nasty habit of killing and burning magical humans… so, he kept his mouth shut.

"I need some air," he grumbled and shoved his way out of his seat and up the stairs. Hamish watched him go, eyebrows furrowed.

The salty air, crisp wind and sunshine actually did make him feel a tad better. Instead of lamenting his situation, he focused instead on the sturdiness of the deck below him and the coolness of the guardrail at his fingertips. For the first time since he boarded the Titanic, he took a moment to observe it.

For a muggle monstrosity, it was actually quite tastefully done. The smokestacks were a classic golden hue, towering proudly into the blue sky. The walls and pipes were painted a clean, minimal white, complementing the warmth of the wooden deck quite well. He peered down the side of the hull, watching the ocean water crash at the Titanic's heels... and it was bloody fast.

 _I've never seen anything like this,_ he realized bitterly. _Maybe muggles do know a thing or two about ships._

This realization made him angry. He didn't want to think about things like this, but he was trapped with all of these muggles. He wondered where Hermione Granger was and if she was as miserable as he was. Probably not, since she was likely off somewhere, scheming up a plan to get back to their time with _his_ wand. He needed to find her as soon as possible.

"Feelin' better?" A familiar bass voice asked from behind him and Draco closed his eyes. He took a deep breath. He knew he couldn't keep acting like he had been, it was too out of character for whoever Nicholas had been… and Hamish was becoming suspicious.

"Yeah," he mumbled, "thanks.."

"I've got someone I want to introduce ye to," Hamish said and Draco turned to look over his shoulder. Two kind looking young men greeted him, one with curly hair the color of sand and the other with tan skin and strong eyebrows.

"Tommy here is Irish, on his way to the new world to work for his Uncle," he said and the sandy haired man reached out his hand, after a moment's hesitation Draco clasped it and shook. His fingers were calloused so intensely it felt like he was wearing gloves.

"Pleased to make your acquaintance," Draco murmured, itching to wipe his hand against his fleece pants. He had never willingly shaken hands with a muggle before, and it left a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach.

At Draco's response, Tommy laughed.

"You said you're both Scots?" He asked, reaching inside his coat for a cigarette, "You're blowin' smoke. That man right there is the softest Brit I've ever seen."

Hamish chuckled, "ever since we were in line to board he's been talkin' funny. Like one of those first class folks."

"Must be trying to turn over a new leaf," Tommy said and grinned, striking a match to light the cigarette between his teeth.

"Everyone knows that in New York you can be a new man!" The darker man said, giving Draco a kind hearted smile before offering up his hand as well, "the names Sam."

"He's an American," Hamish supplied and Draco gave him a look that said _'I'm not stupid, I know what an American sounds like.'_

This time the young Malfoy remained silent as he shook hands. He had never met an American before, and it was strange that these were the circumstances it took.

"You don't look American," Draco commented after a moment of observation.

"And what is an American supposed to look like?" Sam asked, leaning back on his heels and resting his elbows against the metal safety guard rail.

"Oh, you've really put your foot in it now," Hamish said, eyebrows raised, exchanging looks with Tommy. Draco ignored them.

"I don't know. Blue eyes, blonde hair, I suppose," he said, shrugging. The man before him had tan skin, deep brown eyes, and defined cheekbones. He was handsome, and undeniably exotic looking.

"He's about as American as you can get," Tommy grinned and threw his arm around his friend, "he's an Indian."

" _Half_ ," Sam clarified, and Draco could swear that he was blushing, "my mom's Iroquois, my dad's Scottish. He sent me to Scotland to get a 'proper education', as if there weren't any proper schools in New York."

"That's intriguing," Draco said, genuinely impressed by the man's backstory. He was about to ask him what school he had ended up attending but then the corner of his eye, he saw a blur of gold on the deck above him… and for some reason it seized his attention.

When he turned his gaze, the view of a woman in the most exquisite gown he had ever seen greeted him. He couldn't see her face, but he could tell from her silhouette and the way she stood that she must have been quite beautiful. His eyes were drawn to the intricate lacework of the gown, and for the second time in the same day he found himself impressed by muggle handiwork. He couldn't help but stare, inexplicably eager to discover who this dignified girl could be… Surely she was some sort of muggle royalty or the like. He blinked rapidly as her form eclipsed the sun, giving him the chance to see her face.

His mouth dropped open in stunned silence as he watched the girl- whom he now realized was Hermione Granger- survey the ocean view. This had to be some sort of cruel, twisted joke! Draco was left to scrounge among the dogs for bread crumbs while she had been plopped down into the high life, with servants and, damn her, gorgeous gowns?

The boys around him noticed him watching her, and Tommy snorted.

"Ah, forget it, boyo. You're as like to have angels fly out your arse as get next-"

"Stop talking," Draco snapped, shoving his way through the group and racing forward.

Hermione must have noticed the quick movement, as her gaze turned to him as he neared the space below her deck. A look of recognition and fear flashed through her eyes as she took a step back from the guardrails. She seemed to consider running away, but took a moment to observe the distance between them and the hundreds of witnesses milling about. She smirked and resumed her pose.

"Granger!" He barked, not giving a rats arse if anyone heard him, "come down here!"

"I'm sorry," she called back mockingly, shielding her eyes from the sun as she peered down at him, "I think you have me confused with someone else!"

"This isn't a fucking game!" He snapped, fists clenching and unclenching. For the hundredth time since he boarded the forsaken ship, he wished he had his wand.

"Good sir, I have no idea who you are," she called down, feigning confusion.

"You filthy little-"

"Goodbye, now!" She waved before turning on her heel and striding from view. An angry heat spiked up his chest. No one talked to him like that. _Especially_ not a filthy mudblood like her.

Before his common sense could kick in, he burst into motion. He sprinted towards the stairs leading up to the first class deck. He took the steps three at a time and ignored the sign on the gate that forbade him, a mere 3rd class passenger, from entering. Gasps of disgust and shock from the finely dressed men and women rang in his ears as he flew past them.

He wanted to curse at them, but settled on throwing them dirty looks instead. He was one of them and they didn't even know it. Not to mention, he was certain that he could buy them all of he so wished. Muggle money was worthless, everyone decent knew it.

Draco spotted Hermione's retreating form as she sauntered down the deck near the lounge chairs for sunbathing. When he neared enough to her he grabbed her by the forearm. He let his inertia carry them both spinning into a conveniently placed nook between two extra lifeboats. Hermione was about to scream out when he clamped a hand over her mouth. She struggled against him, hatred in her eyes. This was too familiar.

"Give me my bloody wand," he demanded.

She blinked rapidly, eyebrows furrowing in concern. A moment passed between the two of them.

"You have it, don't you?" Draco said, anger faltering. She shook her head vehemently. Draco paused and searched her face for any deceit. He licked his lips nervously before continuing, "You're lying."

She pried his hand off of her mouth, sucking in a panicked breath.

"I'm _not_ lying, Malfoy," she whispered, looking at him with the kind of fear that couldn't be falsified. "I don't have yours. I don't even have mine! I thought you had them!"

"Then we're…." he began, the astronomical weight of their situation pressing against his chest.

"We're trapped," she finished gravely, giving voice to her fear for the first time since she had woken up. Saying it aloud suddenly made it more real than it had been before. She was trapped on a doomed ship with the person she loathed the most in the world.

"This has got to be some sort of bloody joke," he spat, clenching her forearm tighter in his grasp. She cried out in pain.

"It's not!" She insisted, trying to jerk out of his grasp.

"Oi!" Someone called and Draco turned just in time to see a fist flying towards his face. It slammed into his cheek. His head erupted into pain as stars swam around his vision. The young wizard couldn't see much, but he felt two meaty hands clamp onto his shirt. He shoved his attacker away roughly. The man stumbled back as Hermione cried out for them to stop.

"No! Don't hurt him!"

Draco knew he had to get out of there, and fast: he launched himself over the side of the guardrails onto the third class decks below. He landed roughly on the wood, his knees buckling below him ungracefully. The people around him gasped and shrieked in horror, but he ignored them, his head still spinning from the blow to the face.

"He's there, officers!" A voice called above him and two patrolling sailors were peering over the edge of the deck, batons and whistles ready. _Fuck._

Scrambling to his feet, Draco's worn boots searched for purchase on the ship's surface. As soon as he was upright, he took off across the deck, weaving through confused onlookers as the crewmen above shouted and attempted to follow him from the upper deck. To throw them off of his path, he dashed into the first hallway that he came across. As he rushed past multiple rooms, Draco glanced through a door, catching sight of some cryptic muggle activity involving linen and water. He found another hallway, and another, attempting to lose himself among the muggle-made maze of corridors and polished glass.

When he felt he had created enough distance between his pursuers and himself, he glanced quickly behind to ensure that nobody was watching him before wrenching open the nearest door and stuffing himself inside. A single glowing orb suspended from the ceiling told him that he had found his way into some sort of… broom closet? His heart soared momentarily at the thought of mounting the nearest broom and leaving this whole nightmare behind-but then Draco remembered that muggles used brooms as well. For cleaning the ceiling, was it? Whatever it was the muggles did with them, Draco doubted very much that they were crafted with the numerous charms and spells that went into a flying broom.

Disregarding this distraction, he surveyed the glowing orb in search of some way to turn it off. Draco gave it a careful prod with his finger, only to yank back his finger with a hiss as the orb singed his flesh. Shooting the thing a glare, he then noticed a sort of tail hanging from it. Carefully, he reached up and-batting at it once to ensure that it wouldn't burn him as well-gave it a careful tug. The orb blinked off. Draco could help but let out a sigh of relief. _These muggles will be the death of me,_ he thought darkly.

Nestling himself in among the _muggle_ brooms and assorted gadgetry, Draco sat and listened intently, waiting for either the sounds of pursuit or for his racing heart to slow down to a more leisurely pace, whichever one happened first.

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ _I told you the next chapter would be right around the corner, didn't I?_

 _This one is extra long too, nearly twice as long as my typical chapters. So, enjoy!_

 _Let me know what you think. Leave a review!_


	3. Chapter 3

Hermione Granger rubbed at her arm, wincing at the light bruising that was already forming from Draco's tight hold. The men before her were discussing a plan of action as she sat by, allowing herself to be comforted by another first class woman who had witnessed the whole ordeal. The woman patted her hair and pulled her into a hug.

"Quite a bold move to come up here in the first place," one of the sailors said, jotting some notes down in a leather bound notebook. "Blonde hair, slight build… Did anyone see his the color of his eyes?"

"Brown."Hermione said quickly, surprising herself with a lie.

"I wouldn't call it a bold move," another sailor refuted, "it was bloody foolish." The man was pacing around the posh officer's cabin that they had quickly ushered her into after the events of the morning, his boots making soft squeaks on the polished floor as he pivoted.

"But what did he want with her?" The third officer wondered, twirling his curled mustache between two fingers.

"What do you think he wanted?" The woman holding Hermione in her arms hissed from tight lips, " _those_ kind of men only want one thing."

Hermione pulled away from the strange woman. The whole situation was being blown out of proportion, but she didn't know how to diffuse it… She just knew she had to try.

"It really wasn't anything," Hermione stressed, "He was just… He was confusing me for someone else he knew."

The crowd before her stared in disbelief. She realized how strange it must have sounded: a first class girl was accosted by a third class ruffian and afterwards she comes to his defense? It must have been quite unheard of.

"He hurt you, miss," the man who had punched Draco piped up. Hermione turned her gaze to him, he seemed to be a kind but surprisingly burly servant. "I heard you cry in pain. He should be found and punished."

"He didn't, really," she continued, hiding her arm behind her back. "He just surprised me. That's why I called out… He thought I was someone named Hermione… I don't know who she is, but he seems quite smitten with her, he was trying to convince me to take him back." She wished someone was around who knew her and Malfoy and could catch the humor in her lie. It was the most absurd thing she could have said, but it alleviated some of her inner stress to make such a joke.

They all stood for several heartbeats and blinked, some in confusion and others in disbelief.

"I don't want to press charges," she stated firmly, "I'd rather just forget about this whole thing and enjoy the rest of my voyage not having to worry about some silly manhunt."

Hermione wasn't sure why she was trying so hard to clear his name. After everything he had done to her and what he had put her through, she supposed she should let him be arrested for trespassing and assault. Merlin, she should watch gleefully as he was taken down in handcuffs… he was even a Death Eater! But she just found she couldn't. No matter how much she hated him and wished he didn't exist, he was her only tie back to her world and her time. Without him, she was truly and utterly alone on this doomed ship.

It was his fault that they had ended up in this situation in the first place, but Hermione knew that she couldn't throw him under the bus. He would be locked up or kept in a room somewhere and he would surely go down with the ship. He wouldn't even stand a chance without his wand…

Draco Malfoy was a snivelling, conniving, and loathsome ferret, but he didn't deserve to meet such a gruesome end. No one did. Her stomach churned as she looked around at all of the souls whose lights would be snuffed out in just a few days time. She knew that there wasn't much that one girl with an overbearing (and downright violent) mother could do to help prevent the coming catastrophe, and Merlin knew if she was even capable of affecting events that had already occurred, but Hermione simply couldn't stomach the idea of doing nothing as the inevitable iceberg floated ever closer. As the others in the room continued talking, Hermione thought frantically about any possible way that she could contact the captain and convince him to listen to her.

. . .

"What on earth were you thinkin' chasing her down like that, Nick?" Hamish groaned, rubbing at his face. They were all crammed in the corridor outside of their room. Draco held a wet cloth to his cheek right below his eye, wishing he could cast a healing spell, or at least have some real bloody ice.

"He was thinkin' with the wrong head, that's what," Tommy said, nudging Sam with his elbow, who grinned devilishly in response.

"Shut up," Draco snapped, "It wasn't like that."

The three men erupted into laughter.

"We saw the hearts in your eyes," Sam chuckled and continued in his charming American accent, "you don't have to pretend."

Tommy clasped his hands in front of him, swooning unsteadily on his feet in a teasing mockery of Draco's first impression of Hermione. Hamish made kissy noises and sighed dreamily before they all erupted into raucous laughter.

Draco swallowed. Had there really been hearts in his eyes? Well, figuratively- he knew of course- but he supposed he had felt a flash of attraction and interest toward her before she had known who she was… The idea of that caused a strange stir in his stomach.

"It's nothing now," Draco said, leaning against the wall that smelled sharply of fresh paint. He wouldn't be surprised if, when he peeled himself off, he pulled some of the pigment away with him. "I won't be able to go near her again, they'll be watching for me."

Of course, Malfoy wouldn't have a reason to go near her again, since she didn't have his wand and he didn't have hers. They were both royally fucked, and she'd made it abundantly clear that she didn't want anything to do with him. After all, in this world, she was a first class princess and he was a bloody street rat. So he was on his own, he realized with a strange disappointment.

"You're lucky that they aren't down here right now, combing through every single bunk," Tommy stated, clapping a reassuring hand on Draco's shoulder. "To chase after a girl of her breed is practically a death sentence. You've been touched by an angel."

"You got lucky," Hamish agreed, blotting at his sweaty neck with a handkerchief. "I thought for sure that the next time I saw you, you'd be in chains."

"Alright, alright," Draco said, shrugging Tommy's hand off from his shoulder. "I get it. I'm lucky." He pulled the damp cloth away to show his travelling companions the bruising. They all collectively tried to hide their winces. "… How bad is it?"

"Not bad!" Sam said through his teeth.

"Could be much worse," Tommy shrugged, looking at the ceiling.

"It's alright, really," Hamish nodded vigorously.

Draco rolled his eyes. He must have looked like hell.

"This might as well have happened," he sighed in frustration. He had failed his mission and lost his place in his family in the process. He had taken Granger hostage and foolishly dumped the both of them into that pensive-like object in the hopes of a getaway, but had doomed himself to a life of poor anonymity in America. For the first time since he landed, he truly pondered the rules of this world.

Had he truly fallen back in time? Or was this some sort of a simulation? Or perhaps this was a regular pensive and this was nothing but a memory, like his grandad had collected throughout his life. Draco had snuck away a few times to delve into his grandfather's memories, but those experiences had been nothing like this.

A regular pensieve held and displayed memories through a foggy lens. Yes, you could at times feel as though you were in the room or within the world itself, but you most certainly could not interact with the subjects inside of the memory, nor were you actually physically there. Draco touched gingerly at his swelling skin, hissing in pain.

He was _absolutely_ physically there.

"Now, don't go proddin' at it," Hamish chastised, pulling Draco's hand away, "you'll make it worse."

Suppressing the inevitable twinge of disgust at being touched by a muggle, Draco watched Hamish wearily as he continued to converse with the two men, devising a plan to obtain some medication and ice from the ship physician without raising any suspicion. He thought for a bit about the men before him. These people were muggles through and through, but they didn't seem like some sort of simulation or memory. They reacted to changes organically and seemed to be fully autonomous.

And then there was the amount of detail in this world. Everything was meticulously thought-out and displayed in front of him with the kind of clarity that could only exist in real life. The sharp smell of the polish on the wood, the miniscule vibrations of the ship working tirelessly below his feet, the vibrancy of the blue sky and the vast ocean, and the thousands of people aboard, all with their own stories and lives and souls. If this was a simulated spell, it was a damn good one. He couldn't help but shiver at the thought of all that he had almost certainly lost. Draco had a sneaking suspicion that he was truly aboard the RMS Titanic, bound for a life of mediocrity in the USA.

. . .

Thankfully, news of Hermione's near assault hadn't reached Annabelle's Mother's circle of gossip even by nightfall. The hawk-like woman hadn't brought it up yet, and they were already half way through their impossibly extravagant dinner. Hermione sat upright, her feet tucked delicately beneath her chair as she stared passively at her plate. The poached salmon was drizzled with some sort of savory sauce and looked absolutely decadent, but she couldn't bring herself to taste it. How could she possibly eat? Her whole world had been flipped upside down, neither Draco nor her had their wands to escape, and she was a hundred years in the past on the most famous doomed vessel in the world…. and above it all, she missed Harry, Ron, and her other friends.

"Martha, if your daughter doesn't eat anything she's sure to wither away to nothing," one of the finely dressed women told her, and Hermione looked up in alarm. it took her a moment to realize that Annabelle's mother was named _Martha._ Strange. They had been blathering on and on about some John Jacob Astor and his young pregnant wife. Apparently it was quite the scandal, but Hermione couldn't care less; it was pointless gossip, and not only did it numb her brain and cause her to completely lose interest in conversation, but it hurt her heart as well to know that this was a woman's entire world in this era.

To do nothing but gossip at tea time, gossip at lunch, gossip during their afternoon strolls, and gossip at dinner? What kind of life was that? No working, no studying, no inventing, and no creating? Not even Pansy Parkinson herself could ever dish out so much judgement and spite about the women around her.  
Hermione spluttered for an answer, caught completely off guard, but her mother cut her off.

"Annabelle had a… fainting spell this morning," Her mother said, careful to choose her wording wisely. "Perhaps it's better if she doesn't eat."

"That's nonsense!" An American voice piped up from across the table and Hermione's attention narrowed in on the thick, jovial looking woman across the way. She gave hermione a wink, "A growing girls' gotta eat! Otherwise she's nothin' but a toothpick."

A spark of realization coursed through Hermione's body as she put two and two together: she had recognized this woman when she first sat down but hadn't realized where! This was Molly Brown, _The Unsinkable_ Molly Brown. The woman who single-handedly took charge of her lifeboat and instructed the sailors aboard to redistribute the women and go search for survivors. Hermione found herself star-struck. She was one of Hermione's many female historical heroes.

She searched for words, but once again, found none.

"If a girl eats too much then she gets a bit too thick," Martha said, side eyeing Molly, "isn't that right, Margaret?"

Hermione bristled at the insult thrown Molly's way. She made eye contact with the woman who was supposed to be her mother, and very pointedly reached out and picked up one of the three forks before her and dug into the salmon with vigor. Her mother's icy stare penetrated Hermione's soul.

"See? She knows what's good for her," Molly chuckled, and she could feel the woman's warmth and affection all the way across the table. "Eat up, Annabelle. You need your strength for your journey."

"Thank you, Molly," Hermione said after swallowing the most delicious bite of salmon that had ever graced her tongue. "Are you happy to be returning to America?"

"Oh, I'm just tickled," she said, "my children are waiting for me. Although they're grown now. I think my daughter is just a little younger than you, Anna."

"Isn't your husband waiting for as well you?" Her mother asked in a knowing tone, piercing eyes swinging to narrow in on the American woman.

Molly shifted in her seat uncomfortably, but met the woman's gaze evenly.

"No, J.J. and I are separated as of a few years ago," she said truthfully, but smiled before taking a sip of her red wine, "but it's alright, I've got my children, my spirits, and a good share of our fortune."

Hermione couldn't contain her smile. What a firecracker of a woman. She hadn't gotten to know a whole lot of Americans in her time- close to none, actually- but she had a certain feeling that she would like them a whole lot if they were anything like Molly Brown.

"Annabelle, you have a husband waiting for you in America, don't you?" A man piped up, and Hermione recognized him as one of the men in charge of the titanic. He had the face of a rat with an absurdly fancy mustache.

"I.." Hermione began, blinking rapidly, suddenly remembering a man.. What was his name? It was something stupid, like Manston. Or Winfred… Merlin, she couldn't remember, "Yes, I'm going to New York to meet.. Uh- my fiance, Wilson."

" _Winston,_ " her mother hissed from beside her, reaching down to pinch Hermione's arm. The sudden and sharp pain took her off guard and she jumped in her seat.

"Winston! My mistake," Hermione quickly corrected herself, but the damage had been done. There was an uncomfortable shift in the atmosphere of the table, everyone passing glances between one another. _What kind of a society girl couldn't recall the name of her own wealthy fiance?_

"Boy! That fainting spell must've knocked his name right outta your head!" Molly said and grinned, releasing some of the pent up tension in the group. They all chuckled lightly, relieved at the break in atmosphere.

"Well, I do believe it's time for my daughter and I to retire to our quarters," her mother said sternly, gently pressing the white napkin to the corners of her mouth before refolding it and placing it delicately beside her porcelain plate. It was then that she wrapped her wiry fingers around Hermione's elbow and quite literally yanked her up out of her seat. "Goodnight, everyone."

The young witch had to actively stifle her gasp of pain. She looked in alarm to the woman's wrinkled face puckered with displeasure down to the iron grip on her arm… What kind of mother would handle her daughter in such a way?

She was _hurting_ her, squeezing so intensely that she would undoubtedly have bruises in the morning. Her poor arm would just be speckled with bruises after dealing with Draco and her mother all day… Hermione's stomach began to twist with a sense of doom. What kind of relationship did Annabelle and her mother have?

"Don't be rude, Annabelle. Tell them goodnight," the woman hissed, an unpleasant smile tugging at the corners of her wrinkled mouth.

"Goodnight," Hermione whispered to the table, a few faces gazed back at her in concern while the rest turned their eyes to their plates. They all could see what was happening… and no one would do anything. From the corner of her eye, Hermione could see her mother's manservant, Horace, move from his place standing by the ornate pillar off to the side. He was going to follow them up. She swallowed roughly.

"Sleep tight, Annabelle," Molly Brown piped up from her end of the table, eyes searching Hermione's apprehensive expression and the tight hold on her elbow. "We'll see you for breakfast tomorrow, won't we?"

Hermione looked at Martha. The woman nodded tightly.

"You'll see her tomorrow… _If_ she feels better, of course," she said.

 _ **A/N:**_ _Happy Thanksgiving to my fellow Americans! Hope you all had a great holiday! 3 Here's a present lol._


	4. Chapter 4

The third class mess hall was a cacophony of body heat, boisterous laughter, empty plates, and the heady scent of dark beer. Draco Malfoy glanced down at his plate of food: a meager portion of potatoes, some unidentifiable vegetables, and a particularly grainy looking piece of bread that had already grown cold. His stomach rumbled unpleasantly… He had skipped lunch, and hadn't had anything to eat back in his time either. He carefully picked up the fork beside his plate and stabbed into a piece of potato before jamming it into his mouth. He chewed and swallowed quickly, not allowing himself to even taste anything.

He would eat. But he wouldn't like it.

"There ya go," Hamish said, face flushed from the alcohol that had started flowing about twenty minutes prior. He grinned at his friend. "I was worried about ya not eating."

"Glad to see you have your appetite back," Tommy said, offering out his glass of beer. "Cheers! To Nick's health!"

"To Nick's health!" Sam and Hamish cried, giving him good-natured smiles. Draco couldn't help the warmth that rushed to his cheeks. No one had ever wished for his good health like this before…

He swallowed another bite before lifting up his glass of water to clink it against the three of theirs. They all downed their drinks with alarming speed. The young wizard watched in fascination as Hamish finished the entire pint in less than ten seconds.

"You sure you don't want a beer?" Sam asked, "I'm gonna go get us another round."

Draco shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his black eye throbbing painfully, "thank you, but I'll pass."

He wasn't about to get drunk in such a precarious situation, especially with the ship's watchmen looking out for him. He kept finding himself glancing at the stairs down to the mess hall wearily. He could almost see Hermione Granger gliding down the staircase in her silk gown flanked by two sailors, scanning the crowd for him and pointing him out. He'd be absolutely fucked if that were to happen… So he had to keep his wits about him.

"Are you sure?" Tommy pressed, speaking loudly to cut through the loud din of the hall, "you could use a beer after the day you've had."

"I'm really alright," Draco called back. "I'm going to head off to bed anyways."

"Really?" Sam asked.

"At least eat the rest of your food!" Hamish chastised, pointing a meaty finger at Draco's half eaten dinner.

"Okay," he mumbled and shoveled the rest of the potatoes and vegetables into his mouth. The three of them watched him as he finished his food in record time.

"Goodnight," he mumbled through a mouthful of food, standing up and waving.

"Night," they all chorused.

As Draco made his way up the stairs, he realized he wasn't quite ready for bed. His racing mind wouldn't let him rest anytime soon. All he knew was that he wanted to be alone. He made his way to the third class decks instead, grabbing the nearest wool coat off of the hooks to his left.

. . .

Hermione was quite literally thrown into her bedroom, she stumbled on her heels and cried out in pain when her hip connected with the sharp corner of her vanity.

"Did our conversation before lunch mean nothing to you?" Her mother asked, ignoring her pained shout. "What did you promise me?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Hermione whispered, clutching at her hip. Horace stepped into the room behind her mother and closed the door behind him with a menacing click. She was trapped.

"You _promised_ that you wouldn't embarrass me again," Martha snapped, jabbing an accusing finger at the Gryffindor girl. Despite the elegant white gloves dawning the woman's hands, her fingers looked strangely akin to claws.

"I didn't intend to embarrass-" Hermione tried to placate the woman.

"So you just happened to forget Winston's name?" She spat back.

"Yes!" She snapped.

Her mother crossed the room in a few quick strides, pulling off one of her white gloves. Hermione's quick eye and mind registered the slight movement and saw what was coming. But when she tried to block the woman's attack, she didn't make it in time and a sharp hand struck her face.

She stumbled back in shock.

No one… _No one_ had ever hit her before. It stunned her into silence.

"Don't you dare mock the only thing that will save our name and our family," her mother said, voice trembling with rage and emotion. "Winston will be your husband and our provider. We owe everything to him. You will respect him and his name."

Hermione stared back dumbly, her hand pressing against her throbbing cheek. Her mother moved to sit on the edge of Hermione's bed, sighing dramatically and rubbing at her face. Horace watched passively from the doorway. A few tense moments passed before Hermione's shock took a backseat to her anger. She seemed to forget who she was once again, her hand dropping to her side.

"How could you?" The words left her lips before she knew what she was saying. "How could you strike your own daughter?"

The woman turned in shock and watched as Hermione stood straight as a board and tilted her chin in the air.

"Now I understand... You strike her. You hit her and abuse her. You scare her with threats of poverty and physical violence… Just because you're afraid of losing a bit of wealth and relevancy," she said, clenching her fists together. She thought of Annabelle. A young girl, no autonomy, no voice… raised by this monster into being nothing but a pawn to be married off to the first wealthy man who stops by. She didn't know her worth because of the monster perched atop the edge of her bed.

But Hermione knew Annabelle's worth, and she would stop the abuse then and there.

"You can't hurt her anymore," The young witch stated, crossing the room to the door. Horace stood in the doorframe. "Move out of my way."

"Shall I, Madame?" Horace asked, stalking menacingly towards her. Hermione's heart stopped and she looked over her shoulder to her mother's indifferent face. She shrugged passively.

"I suppose," she sighed, pulling her white glove back on. "But do try to avoid her face."

. . .

Draco was lying down on one of the uncomfortable wooden benches on the third class decks, arms crossed beneath his head, listening to the crashing waves and gazing up at the innumerable amount of stars dusting the inky black sky. He never really took the time to look at the stars in his life back home, but here, on this ship… He didn't really have much else to do. It was either this or try to push his way through the sweaty, boisterous crowd back to his group. He guessed the other option was go to bed, but he didn't know if he could even find his room at this point. This ship was enormous and it was too easy to get lost in the winding corridors.

He was deep in his thoughts of home and America when racing footsteps caught his attention. The click of heels against the deck was characteristically feminine, but that wasn't what piqued his interest: it was the speed in which the clicks came and went that rang a mental alarm bell. He sat up just in time to see Hermione Granger race past him, face flushed and tears streaming down her cheeks. Her hair was falling from her elegant updo, messy strands of brown curls falling into her face, and her labored sobs turned to vapor as soon as they hit the frigid night air. Despite the freezing temperatures, she was donned in nothing but her shimmering midnight blue gown, not a coat in sight.

He gawked for a moment, watching as she ran towards the bow of the ship, her soft sobs eventually being swallowed by the sounds of the wind.

What was happening? Why was she so upset?

He hadn't expected to see her for the rest of the voyage, let alone _that very night_ and in such a distraught way. It was surreal. Hermione Granger was almost always the picture perfect image of a girl in control of her emotions… To see her in such a state of distress was unnerving.

After the initial shock of witnessing such a strange sight faded away, he reminded himself firmly that he didn't care what was going on with her or why she was crying. He settled back down onto the bench, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring up at the night sky.

What on Salazar's earth was she even sobbing about? She had been placed in the best life possible purely by luck. The Gryffindor girl had essentially won a lottery: she was a first class heiress, set for a wealthy life in the United States where she would surely make a name for herself. She was infuriating.

Her distraught expression flashed through his mind's eye once more and he ground his teeth together. The look in her eyes had been one of pure desperation. It was the look of a woman who would do just about anything to escape her situation. She was going to do something stupid tonight, he could tell.

Fuck.

He sat up and spun until his feet were planted firmly on the deck. He had to do something.

When he found Hermione he was shocked to find her in an even worse state than he had expected: she had climbed over the guardrails of the bow and was letting herself dangle precariously over the raging ocean below. All that tethered her to the ship was one hand, with which she held the frosted rail loosely. What was she going to do? Let herself go and drown in the icy Atlantic?

"Really, Granger?" He asked, rolling his eyes. He stayed a few feet back, not wanting to alarm her. She looked over her shoulder, clouded eyes meeting his.

"Don't come any closer, Malfoy," she choked out, turning back around to gaze at the churning depths below.

"You couldn't pay me to get any closer to the edge of this monstrosity," he rolled off. "What? You think I want to slip overboard? No thank you."

"Go away," she said and Draco had to strain to hear, inching closer. He could hardly hear her voice, most of the sound was snatched by the wind and buried in the waves. "I don't want you here."

"And what exactly are you trying to accomplish by doing this?" He asked.

"I need to get back home." Her shoulders began to shake again as sobs coursed through her body. "I can't stay here."

"You think killing yourself will accomplish that?"

"Maybe… I don't know, but I have to try something," she said, and Malfoy saw her let her grip on the guardrail slip a little further. His heart jumped in his chest. Oh, Salazar. She really was about to do something so stupid… He had to try and get her back onto the ship, or she'd fall and leave him all alone in this foreign time on this stupid boat.

"You don't want to do that," he said and began to inch forward… slowly, so slowly.

"Why not?" She asked, and he could hear the resigned tone of her voice, "we're probably still back in the Ministry of Magic… Maybe all we need to do is wake up."

"Haven't you been paying attention, Granger?" He asked loudly, very clearly chastising her, "for the Brightest Witch of Our Age you're being a massive knob head."

"What?" She asked, glaring over her shoulder. It seemed as though the Gryffindor girl couldn't help but bristle at the insult. Draco felt a small moment of triumph, it was working. He was pulling her away.

"When I got punched earlier _it hurt._ Can't you feel the wind on your face? Can't you taste the food they serve us?" He snapped, "this isn't a bloody pensieve we can just fall right in and out of… This is _real life."_

"I've never been in a pensieve-"

"But I know you've read about them," he said, finally reaching the edge of the bow and placing a hand on the guardrail right beside hers. It was freezing to the touch. He shivered. "They aren't like this. You know they aren't. I've been in my grandfather's pensieve and it couldn't hold a candle to this magic. This is real, Granger. You die here, you die for real."

Draco Malfoy didn't know if this was actually the case, but he didn't want to risk it. He also didn't stop to think about why he was trying so desperately to keep her aboard and alive… He didn't have time to delve into it.

"But we're trapped, and it's your bloody fault!"

She had him there. The only reason they were trapped on this godforsaken ship was because he had accidentally dragged her into the portal with him. He floundered for words, but nothing came out.

"There's no escape," she whimpered after a moment, "this ship, it's doomed…"

"It's a muggle nightmare, yes, but it's not so bad. We're going to the United States- which is frankly the last place I want to go- but it's not like we're on a ship to hell," he peered over the edge at the raging water being churned violently about by the massive propellers. He shuddered inwardly. It looked fucking freezing.

"You don't know?" She asked quietly and Draco looked up at her, meeting her doe-like gaze evenly. He watched her shocked expression as her brown curls whipped in the wind and steam escaped from her slightly parted lips.

"Don't know what?" he asked, searching her face. The sudden change of tone, her intense focus zeroing in on him... What was she talking about?

"About this ship? The Titanic?"

"No, why would I know anything about the Titanic? I'm not a muggle. I'm not a blood traitor," he told her firmly, trying to keep her focused on the task at hand, "now will you please come back over the rail before I freeze to death waiting on you?"

Hermione swallowed, staring hard at his face, then back down at the raging ocean below her, and then once more back up to him. Her mind seemed to be sorting and weighing out the different scenarios of what could go down that night. She closed her eyes and breathed a trembling sigh.

"Okay," she whispered, shaking her head, "help me over, please."

Draco released a shaky breath that he hadn't realized he was holding. Hermione maneuvered herself slowly until she was facing him.

"Your face…" she murmured, noticing his black eye for the first time.

"It looks worse than it feels," he said, shrugging in a show of uncharacteristic dismissal. Typically he would have milked any sort of pity he could have received, but he didn't feel the desire this time around.

"I didn't mean for you to get hurt," she whispered.

"That's funny, because I also didn't want to get hurt," he admitted and her lips turned up into a wry smile. It was then that the young Slytherin realized how close to one another they were and that she was _smiling,_ of all things. Draco Malfoy had somehow coaxed a smile from Hermione Granger. Hell had frozen over, probably. "Besides, the one you gave me in third year was far worse than this."

She reached out her free hand. After a moment of slight hesitation, Draco held it with his own. It was surprisingly warm compared to the icy ocean wind, not to mention quite soft. He squeezed tightly in support as she lifted her foot from one guardrail to the other-

-and suddenly slipped, a terrified scream ripping from her throat. His arm was nearly yanked out of his socket as he clamped down on her. He reached both hands down and tried to find a good hold to hoist her up.

"Oh Merlin! Malfoy!"

"Granger! Fuck! Hold on!" He cried through gritted teeth. She clawed at his sleeves and hands as her feet dangled in the open air.

"Help me!" She screamed, her shriek piercing the night air.

"I'm trying!"

A few terrifying moments passed before he finally got a good enough hold to heave her upwards, his abs and biceps working overtime to pull her up and over the guardrails.

They collapsed atop the wooden deck with a hard thud, Draco landing right on top of Hermione. They breathed heavily in tandem with one another, and Draco could feel her trembling uncontrollably below him. They gazed at one another in shock.

Draco Malfoy, a mere 24 hours after threatening to kill Hermione Granger in the drafty halls of the Ministry of Magic, had just saved her from plummeting to an icy, bitter end.

Before either of them even had a moment to register what had just happened, and the position they had ended up in, the slaps of boots on the deck announced that two crewmen on their nightly rounds had heard the commotion. They had their whistles and batons ready, and Draco looked down at their entangled bodies in what looked like some sort of indecent attack on Granger's womanhood…. or something fucking stupid like that.

"You stay back!" one of the sailors cried, "and don't move an inch!"

"Brilliant," Draco groaned and rolled off of the Gryffindor girl. How many times in one day could he get into trouble because of this bloody witch?

* * *

 _A/N:_

 _If you like this story,_ _ **please review**_ _you guys! It literally makes my day and inspires me so much to keep going. If you want to read more and want faster updates, it's simply in your best interest to let me know what you think._


	5. Chapter 5

"It wasn't what you think it was," Hermione said for the hundredth time, watching in despair as a pair of cuffs was placed on Draco's wrists, locking shut with a grating series of clicks. He glared up at the night sky in annoyance.

"Are these silver? I tend not to wear any jewelry made from anything less pure," he snarked at the group of watchmen.

" _Ferret,"_ Hermione hissed, just low enough and obscure enough that no one could understand what she was saying. But they both knew what she meant: _"stop talking you insufferable git, I'm trying to save you."_

"Sorry, miss," one of the guards said. It was the same man who had found them earlier in the day after her and Draco's first tussle. "This is the second time in the day that someone of his description was caught trying to take advantage of you."

"It's not the same man," Hermione insisted, "that man had brown eyes. Look at him! His eyes are grey. Clearly distinguishable. Additionally, he wasn't trying to take advantage of me."

"He was on top of you, we heard you scream!" The second guard accused.

It was then that Draco looked at Hermione and gave her a wicked grin and a wink. Hermione's face flushed, and she briefly considered letting him take the fall after such a bold, pig headed move.

"His eye is black too, how did you get that? Huh? Probably doing something that got you into trouble," the main sailor said, glowering at the Slytherin boy.

"I assure you this is all a big misunderstanding," she soothed, standing between the two men, "I was standing on the edge to get a look at the propellers… and uh- I slipped!"

"You slipped?"

"The edge is quite slick, and I couldn't see them. It seems as though I leaned over a bit too far and without Drac-" She caught herself, "this man..."

She looked at Draco, realizing that she didn't know what his name was supposed to be in this time…

"I'm sorry sir, I never caught your name," she said and he looked at her in surprise. He furrowed his eyebrows, seemingly caught off guard.

"It's… uh… Nick," he mumbled, and then under his breath, _"or something.."_

"Nick was there just in time to catch me! That's all that happened," she finished. Hoping to Merlin that they would believe her. "So let him go, he's not guilty of anything except being in the right place at the right time to save my life. He deserves better than to be falsely accused of attacking me. He's a hero."

Draco was staring at her in a way that made her blush once more. What? Couldn't she be a little bit thankful? Yes, perhaps she was laying it on a bit thick in her attempt to prevent him from being jailed, but it was the kindest, most selfless thing he had ever done… and if you had told her a few years ago that one day Draco Malfoy would save her life with no obvious personal gain inspiring him, she would have told Luna to check your head for Nargles.

The guards looked at one another before slowly retrieving the key to his handcuffs and letting his wrists free. He stretched them high above his head and grinned at the sailors.

"Thanks boys. At ease," he rolled off, in a drawl that no longer matched his unkempt appearance at all. Hermione wished she had her wand so she could curse him; he couldn't play humble to save his life.

"Anna!" A familiar bell of a voice rang out. Hermione turned just in time to receive an armful of Lottie. The young girl's hug would have been quite enjoyable if not for the burning pain in her ribs. Stars swam in her vision as the sharp stab traveled through her chest.

"Lottie, be careful," She breathed before stepping away and putting distance between the two of them. She had to take a moment as the wave of throbbing pain coursed through her. She clutched at the sore spot, choking back tears and despairing. She must have had several cracked ribs.

"Are you okay? I came as soon I heard," she cried, glancing at Draco and the sailors wearily.

"What did you hear?"

"That you were in some kind of trouble!" she said, "I was so worried when Horace told me."

At that name Hermione jerked to attention, scanning the bow of the ship for— there! Beside the pillar next to the nearest entrance inside the ship: Horace. A cold sweat broke across her entire body, the dull throb of her side suddenly becoming as fresh as the moment his boot had crashed against it. Had he followed her down? How long had had he been watching?

"Lottie, I can't go back with that man," she whispered, low enough that only the two of them could hear.

"Did he hurt you again?" She whimpered back, glancing fearfully over her shoulder. Hermione said nothing in response, not breaking eye contact with the man who had pushed her to the breaking point in less than two minutes. She wondered where Lottie had been off to while Horace had… she shuddered, unable to even finish the thought.

"What did you do?" Lottie said, breaking Hermione's concentration. She looked in alarm to the young maid. What had _she_ done? Nothing! Nothing but stand up for herself and Annabelle.

It was then that the towering man pushed off from his resting place on the wall and walked toward her. Hermione couldn't help but take a few steps back, a cold chill that had nothing to do with the cutting wind traveling down her spine.

"Evening, gentlemen," he greeted the three sailors, his voice sending a wave of panic through Hermione. The three sailors looked like they wanted nothing more than to turn in for the night and warm up, and Horace seemed to sense that. He continued in a personable tone: "I'm Miss Annabelle's guardian. I can take it from here."

"Right! Everything seems to be in order then," said the main sailor before he tilted his hat in respect, "goodnight, Miss. Do be more careful when looking down the hull from now on."

As the watchmen made their way back to their post, Hermione's stomach twisted in fear. She wanted them to stay, but her voice seemed to have disappeared.

"Everything will be alright," Lottie whispered into her ear, "we just have to do as he says."

"Are you going to stand there whispering all night or are you going to introduce me to this.." Horace looked at Draco, who had been watching the whole interaction with a glazed over look of disinterest, "...boy?"

"No," Hermione murmured, mouth suddenly dry, "let's just go back."

"Yes, Horace," Lottie agreed, wrapping her arms around Hermione's shoulders, "she's been through quite a lot tonight, we need to get her warm in bed."

"Hold on just a moment," he muttered in his grumbling baritone voice, "I haven't gotten the chance to thank your savior."

"I'm all ears," Draco drawled. If he sensed any sort of the unease in the air, he didn't give any indication.

"Thank you for saving our sweet Annabelle from falling overboard," Horace said and offered his hand out to Draco, who did nothing but gaze at it in displeasure. "Is there anything we can do to repay you?"

"An all expense paid evening in the first class lounge should start to cover it," Draco stated, looking the man in the eye. He was challenging him. _Oh, Merlin._ She shook her head at the Slytherin boy, pleading inwardly for him to stop while he was ahead.

That seemed to take the manservant by surprise. It wasn't every day a third class laborer would act so haughtily. He looked down his crooked nose at Draco, taking a moment to size the boy up. Hermione wanted to run in the opposite direction, unsure of how the man would react. She had already been at the hands of his relentless anger once that night, she wasn't sure if she could handle even witnessing it a second time.

"You've got quite the sense of humor," Horace finally said, seeming to sense Draco's challenge and rising to the occasion. "I'm sure Annabelle's mother would love to sit down with you over supper."

"Brilliant," Draco said.

"What was your name again?"

"Nicholas," he told the man and Hermione wished that he would just stop talking. Didn't he realize that he was just playing into the older man's hand?

"Well, Nicholas," Horace said, "I hope you have something a little bit more suitable to wear than those rags. Unfortunately, there is a dress code."

"Oh, you don't have to worry about that."

. . .

"Yeh did what?" A bedraggled Hamish gawked from his bottom bunk. He watched the young Slytherin pace restlessly back and forth in the candle-lit space between the two sets of bunks in their designated quarters.

"Lied and said that I had access to a suit, keep up," Draco snapped. "We need to find one. Now."

"Yeh saved that girl? That same girl from earlier?"

"Yes! I saved her from going overboard, they asked how they could repay me, and I told them a dinner in the first class lounge would suffice!" He recapped impatiently, voice raising.  
"Shhhhh!" One of the Italians hissed from beneath his blanket.

"Fuck off!" Draco snarled.

"Nicholas!" Hamish stressed, eyes flicking from his pacing companion to their two roommates before he hoisted himself up and out of bed. The beefy Scot grabbed Draco by the collar of his shirt and yanked the smaller boy out of the room and shut the door behind them.

"Stop man-handling me!" Malfoy growled, straightening his shirt in annoyance.

"Fer the last time, stop bloody yellin' at everyone!" The Scottish man stressed, running his hand through his hair. "I don't know who yeh think yeh are lately, but the next fight ye start I won't help yeh get out of."

"Can we please focus on the task at hand?"

"What task? Yeh lied! There is no task!"

"We need to find some formal wear so that I don't look like a bloody idiot at dinner tomorrow night!"

"That sounds like a _Nicholas_ kind of problem," Hamish leveled with Draco, shaking his head in bewilderment. "I'm glad that yeh got to that girl in time to save her, but yeh shouldn't have pretended yer someone yer not."

 _But it is me. I'm not pretending,_ he despaired inwardly.

Draco swallowed hard, watching his companion for several moments before running his fingers through his wavy platinum tresses. He hated to admit it, but Hamish was right. He didn't know why he had lied about already having suitable formal wear, and it definitely wasn't anyone else's problem but his.

He supposed he had made such a bold claim because of his damn pride… The way that man.. _Horace, had_ spoken to him had made Draco want to break his knees and force feed him dirt. Or, even better, he wanted to roll into dinner in a stunning suit, shiny shoes, with clean skin and manicured nails. He wanted that bloody man-servant to feel like a fool for assuming that Draco Malfoy was nothing more than a laboring dog.

Not to mention, the way Granger's body language had changed the moment the older man had stepped onto the scene… She was afraid of him. Which was a big deal, as Hermione Granger wasn't afraid of anyone. Yeah typically in most cases an enemy of his enemy was his friend, but he wasn't so sure if he could ever consider this man his friend. Perhaps it was because ever since he had realized Hermione was all he had on this bloody ship, he had stopped considering her his en-

No! He shook himself mentally. What had he been thinking? One day on a ship from the past couldn't change so many years of animosity and hatred.

"I'm goin' back to bed," Hamish said, stifling a yawn and interrupting his inner turmoil, "figure it out yerself… but don't come back until you've calmed down."

Hamish retreated back into their room, the door clicking shut behind him. Draco was left alone in the long, suffocatingly small corridor. He wanted to kick something.

What had he gotten himself into?

What had possessed him to get so entangled in Hermione's life on this ship? Was he really that desperate to be around a familiar face?

The image of the Gryffindor girl leaning off of the bow of the ship, unraveling before his eyes, flashed through his skull. He didn't know what had pushed her to the brink like that, but the idea that such a strong girl as her could be driven to such extremes had shocked him. He was simply curious; yes, that was it. Besides, Draco thought darkly, it was best to know your enemies, after all. Regardless, he was determined to get to the bottom of this whole affair.

It seemed that life in the lap of luxury wasn't treating Hermione so well.

. . .

The following morning, Hermione Granger was in full preservation mode. She said nothing unless she was spoken to directly. She hadn't made eye contact with a single person all throughout breakfast; she simply stared at the uneaten food on her plate, waiting for the meal to be over.

She would play the part of Annabelle. She would do it and keep her mouth shut and preserve her own physical safety. She had come to a really ugly realization last night: without her wand there was very little she could do to protect herself. Every painful breath and accompanying creak of her abused ribs reminded her of that.

Hermione was deadly with her magic, make no mistake. With it, she could take down even the largest and most dangerous man or beast. But she wasn't a physically strong girl, she had never taken any self defense classes, and she could count the amount of times she had gotten into a physical altercation on one finger.

Her "mother" leant over and hissed, _"Eat something."_

Like a robot, Hermione picked up the fork that she assumed was right and took a bite of her breakfast. She chewed mechanically, not really tasting a thing.

"Annabelle, dear, how are you feeling?" A familiar American voice piped up behind her, she looked over her shoulder to find Molly Brown approaching. She had a friendly smile, but her eyes were tight with concern. Hermione forced a smile of her own, hoping that it would at least fool the woman sitting beside her.

"Better," she murmured, "thank you."

"I heard from the grapevine what happened last night. You must have been so frightened," she said, and Hermione felt her mother tense beside her. She had woken up to what felt like the whole ship's concerned gazes and verbal affirmations… word about the first class girl almost slipping overboard spread like wildfire through the night.

If Hermione thought her mother had been mad at her before, this was something else. She could feel malice pouring off of her in waves, each one deepening the sick feeling that had settled in the pit of Hermione's stomach.

"Thankfully there was that kind steerage boy to help her," one of the women sitting at their table piped up. Hermione thought about Draco; how in her world he was an infamous, wealthy, pure blood turned death eater and in this world he was nothing more than a 'kind steerage boy.'

"Is it true he'll be joining us tonight for supper?" A man asked, twirling his mustache methodically.

"Yes," her mother quipped, "we thought it was the kind thing to do."

 _Liar,_ Hermione wanted to snarl. She wanted to jump from her seat and flip the table full of china and delicate pastries from its place, sending everything crashing to the ground. She wanted to tear the pins from her hair and kick off her shoes. She wanted to run from the table and down to steerage where she really belonged. At first, Hermione had quietly enjoyed this lifestyle. Yes, she was trapped on a doomed ship, but at least she was able to wear stunning silk gowns and eat decadent meals from expensive china painted with all sorts of intricate designs.

Now, she knew it was all a sham. Such excessive wealth was wasteful, monotonous, and hollow. She didn't know how Malfoy had grown up this way his whole life. Her thoughts drifted back to him for the hundredth time that morning…

...he had saved her. That same sniveling prat that had tormented her all their lives, who had called her 'mudblood' countless times and insinuated over and over again that the world would be a better place without her— Hell, he had held a wand against her head in the hall of prophecy and threatened to kill her— _that_ same Draco had talked her into coming back on board. He had held onto her as she dangled haplessly into the darkness and hoisted her up and back over.

Why?

Why didn't he just let her jump? Even pushing her overboard seemed like a more likely scenario involving the Draco _she_ knew.

She sat in her spot, hands wringing restlessly in her lap. She wished she could have asked him herself in person… but she doubted she'd be able to see him until that night. Maybe not even then, unless he had some first class formal clothes lying around in his room.

If he didn't make it to dinner that night, how would she tell him about the fate of the Titanic? At first she couldn't believe that he didn't know that this ship would soon be sinking to the bottom of the Atlantic. It had never occurred to her that someone could have been completely ignorant to one of the world's most famous tragedies. That had been the most influential factor in her decision to stay. She had to tell him. She had to.

"Annabelle," Molly's voice jerked her out of her inner turmoil and she looked at the older woman. "How would you like to get some air with me? The weather is perfect for a stroll."

Hermione looked at her mother, who pursed her lips in displeasure.

"That might be good for the girl," someone at the table said.

"We're not finished with breakfast," her mother interjected.

"It's alright, Martha. You don't have to get up," Molly insisted, "It can be just Anna and I. You're done, aren't ya, sweetheart?"

Hermione's heart skipped. A moment away from that woman!

"Yes, I'm done," she responded quickly.

Despite her racing heart, she took care to act slowly and delicately. She picked up the white napkin next to her plate and dabbed the corners of her mouth before putting it back. She stood and nodded at the table.

"Thank you for all your well wishes, everyone," she stated, pushing her chair in, "I'll see you all at lunch."

"Enjoy your stroll."

Her mother watched them leave with narrowed eyes, and Hermione couldn't help but notice the firm grip with which she was holding her jam knife.

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ _Sorry for the delay! Holiday time is ALWAYS bonkers for me, no matter what stage of life I'm in. LOL. Thank you to Thomas for his quick and speedy edit of this chapter, and thank you to you guys who took the time to review and leave feedback. It really helps me continue on writing._

 _If you liked this chapter, leave a review! I know it was a bit of a filler chapter but I promise the next one will be longer and more substantial! Hopefully it'll be up within the next week. I'm on vacation in Europe! Exciting!_


	6. Chapter 6

"Did you see the sky today?" Sam said between bites of his breakfast.

"Bluer than a robin's egg," Tommy agreed. "We should go for a walk to enjoy the morning."

Draco snorted. He wanted to say: _what else is there to bloody do on this oversized dinghy?_ But instead he kept his mouth shut. He was slowly learning that, in this environment at least, it was better to keep such remarks to himself.

Once they had finished their meal and made their way up to the decks, Draco had to admit that his companions had been right. The sky was annoyingly blue, not a cloud in sight. The sun was warm enough on their faces that they didn't even feel inclined to pull their wool jackets on.

For the first time since he had been dropped into this world, Draco couldn't bring himself to fret about his situation. He simply enjoyed the morning. He sat with Sam, Hamish and Tommy on the wooden benches located at the stern of the ship. They lounged there for a solid hour, talking about anything and everything, watching as the massive expanse of ocean and sky stretched out before them.

"I'm just sayin'," Hamish said, looking up at the clear sky with his hands clasped behind his head, "there's got to be some sort of ocean up there in the sky. Where else would the rain come from?"

"He's lost it," Sam rolled off, chuckling.

"Didn't ya pay attention in class, mate?" Tommy asked, an unlit cigarette dangling between his teeth.

"I never went to school," Hamish admitted.

"Makes sense," Draco mumbled.

Hamish paid him no mind, continuing with "But think about the colors!" He gestured widely to the ocean churning just beyond the rails, "white foam, white clouds, blue water, blue sky!"

"That is because it's in the clouds," Sam informed him, "water lives in clouds until it rains."

"So there _IS_ an ocean up there!" Hamish crooned victoriously.

The three travelers glanced between one another, none of them having the heart to debate with the delusional Scot any further.

"You're absolutely right," Draco said, hoping to put the hare-brained argument to rest.

It was a good morning. He had barely even thought about the suit that he definitely didn't have.

Well, until then. Fuck.

Draco leaned forward and put his face in his hands. What was he gonna do? Pull one out of his arse?

"You okay, mate?"

"No," he said. "I still don't have anything to wear for the dinner with Herm- I mean, that girl."

"What girl?" Sam asked.

"That first class girl," Hamish said, "he _says_ he saved her from goin' overboard last night."

"Yeah right," Tommy chuckled between puffs of his cigarette,"keep dreamin' mate."

"It's true!" Draco said lifting his head and glaring at the three men.

"Sure it is," Sam humored him.

"It bloody is! But it doesn't matter," he snapped, "they're gonna turn me away at the door."

The boys traded disbelieving glances between the three of them. Draco rolled his eyes. It didn't matter what they thought. He knew he was right.

"Mr. Nicholas?" A small voice came.

The boys turned their gaze to find a petite girl with curly blonde hair and smattering of freckles across the bridge of her upturned nose. Draco recognized her immediately: she was Hermione's servant girl. It took Draco a moment to realize that she was asking for _him._

"Yeah?"

"I'm glad I found you," she said and offered a relieved smile and a curtsey, "I'm Lottie. Miss Annabelle and Madame Margaret sent me to summon you to the first class decks to join them on their morning stroll."

Draco definitely hadn't expected _this._ He recognized 'Annabelle' as Hermione's new name. He didn't know who Madame Margaret was, but he didn't care. He turned to grin at his friends, who gawked back at him in shock. He noticed Hamish turning especially pink in the face, gazing openly at the maid.

"Well boys," he slapped his thighs and stood up, stretching his arms into the sky. "It's been nice."

Hamish stood up with him, taking off his hat and smiling nervously at Lottie.

"Good mornin'," he said and nodded his head politely. Lottie gazed up at the towering Scot, a warmth growing in her face. "I'm Hamish."

"Good morning Mister Hamish," she whispered dreamily, "it's nice to make your acquaintance."

"It's a beautiful day, isn't it?" Hamish asked. Draco couldn't help but roll his eyes.

"Yes, it really is."

"Okay, lover boy," Draco snapped, turning on his heel, "say goodbye. Take me to them, Lottie."

The girl jumped, as if having been pulled back into her body. She blinked and waved goodbye to the speechless boys before she turned and began leading the way up to the first class decks.

. . .

It had been Molly's idea to send Lottie to fetch Draco. Hermione didn't think it was a good idea, but after she had personally recounted his heroic actions, Molly had insisted.

"I don't think he's going to be what you're expecting," Hermione stressed. Their arms were linked as they took their second lap around the first class decks. Molly paid her no mind.

"You seem to forget that him and I come from the same breed," she said through a smile, "I don't think he's anything I can't handle."

"I suppose you're right," Hermione relented, praying to Merlin that Draco Malfoy would behave himself for once in his life….behave as well as a death eater could, that is.

At the mental reminder of his role in the Dark Lord's return to terror, a cold lump settled at the bottom of Hermione's stomach. Right. He wasn't her friend or her ally. He was a servant of You-Know-Who. Just because he had saved her from plummeting into icy waters didn't negate the fact that he was part of a group that wanted to systemically wipe out people like her.

"Now your mother on the other hand," Molly continued, jerking the young witch out of her troubled thoughts. "I don't think she's something anyone can handle."

Hermione swallowed, not saying anything in return. She had noticed a looming shadow following a few paces behind them for the entirety of their stroll. Horace was following them, almost certainly listening in on their conversations.

As her and Molly's shoes clacked softly on the upper deck, the warm breeze caressing her skin, the sound of Horace's heavier boots behind them reminded her of the fact that she was surrounded by enemies and had no way to escape. Even if she did survive the sinking— of which there was a fair chance, since she was a first class woman— she would have to live out the rest of her life as a pawn in the patriarchal, abuse-laden nightmare that she had been dropped into. There was the chance that she could run away, but she had a feeling she would be kept under lock and key, watched like a prisoner. Even if she did manage to escape, if she failed to return to her time, she'd have to grow old in this world. She would die without ever seeing her parents, Harry, Ron, or anyone else she had even loved ever again. Things were, indeed, looking very very bleak.

"I think we should speak about something else," Hermione told Molly, opting for blatant candor and not coming up with some fluffy excuse. The American woman knew that Annabelle's mother was trouble. There was no pretending.

The weight of the world was on her shoulders. She sighed and closed her eyes. Maybe she should have jumped after all.

"It's about time you invited me up here," a familiar voice greeted her.

She turned to look over her shoulder and was greeted by the sight of Draco Malfoy standing, wool coat flipped over his shoulder and a relaxed grin on his face. Lottie stood a bit behind him, hands clasped in front of her. Draco had a little bit of color in his cheeks, and his black eye was already starting to heal. He looked… different. She almost hadn't recognized him for a split second.

"I thought you'd forgotten about me already," he quipped and Hermione couldn't help but gawk for a moment. This world seemed to be treating him much better than it was treating her.

"You must be Nicholas," Molly said, greeting the young Slytherin warmly. He gave his hand for her to shake, but she bipased it and enveloped him in the biggest, warmest, Molly Brown hug. "Thank you, darlin'. Thank you for saving Annabelle."

He looked over Molly's shoulder at Hermione, a look of pure surprise in his eyes. Hermione couldn't help but giggle. She could even swear that he was blushing.

"It was nothing, really," he mumbled, clearly unsure of what to do with this friendly American.

She pulled away from him and held him out at arm's length, studying him up and down, "Oh dear. Anna didn't tell me how skinny you are. We need to get some meat on your bones. It's a good thing you'll be joinin' us for supper tonight."

Hermione didn't say anything, she just carefully watched Malfoy's reaction to the boisterous woman.

"Anna, don't be bashful now," Molly said, snapping her out of her thoughts, "say hi."

"Hello, Nicholas," Hermione said timidly, unsure how to navigate this new Nicholas-Annabelle dynamic. How would one act with a stranger who had saved her life? She supposed the boy in front of her wasn't quite the same Draco Malfoy whom she had gone to school with all her life. It shouldn't be too difficult to pretend that he really was third class passenger and unlikely-hero Nicholas.

She slowly offered her hand, looking him in the eyes evenly. He extended his own and gave hers a light shake, not breaking eye contact. When their fingers touched, Hermione felt a slight tingle travel up the length of her arm. She rationalized it away quickly. It was quite obviously just a reaction to the cool ocean air on her skin.

"It's nice to see you again... Annabelle," he murmured, visibly as uncomfortable as Hermione felt. With Molly around, they couldn't be themselves… They couldn't speak to one another like hostile schoolmates of six years. They had to speak to one another like strangers brought together under very unlikely circumstances.

It was all very strange. She could see Lottie grinning from the corner of her eye.

"Erm, Nicholas… I wanted to ask you," Hermione began, suddenly coming back into herself, "...if you had anything suitable to wear tonight." _We need to talk. We can't talk if you're locked out._

Draco dug his hands into his pockets, glaring up at the sky.

"No," he admitted. It seemed to give him physical pain to admit such a thing.

"Oh!" Molly cried, "Don't worry, son. I've got a boy back home who's about your size. I have something perfect for you."

The relief was visible in Malfoy's expression. He gave Molly a surprised smile, though small, Hermione could tell that it was genuine. "Thank you."

The Gryffindor's stomach stirred; she had never heard him thank _anyone_ for _anything_. She studied the boy before her. Was this really the same Draco Malfoy who had pressed his wand to her temple and threatened to kill her just one day ago?

. . .

As the morning grew into day, the sun rising higher in the clear, blue sky, Hermione became more and more aware of the manservant's menacing presence. Horace had been following her, Draco, and Molly Brown for quite some time. Hermione had surely thought that he would have grown bored or something similar, but he had remained on their tail. A constant and persistent eye.

"So why are you headin' to the USA?" Molly asked as they finished what must have been their 10th lap around the decks. Hermione's aching legs and sore feet made her marvel at Molly's apparent endurance; the woman looked as if she did this every day. Did she?

"I wouldn't say it was my choice, really," he grumbled, scratching at the back of his head.

"Sometimes life makes its decisions for you," she responded, nodding sagely, "if there's one thing that I've learned, kid…" she halted in her place and took Draco's shoulders in her hands. She stared at him intently: "it's that life is one wild ride. There are many twists and turns, but everything that happens is meant to be."

Draco stared back at her, dumb struck. Hermione could tell that he was floundering for words. She bit her lip to hide her grin.

"Madame, Charlotte Appleton is in your quarters. Your scheduled tea time started ten minutes ago," a young girl, donning a similar maid uniform to Lottie's, piped up as she approached. She seemed a bit flustered, hair flying free from beneath her bonnet, her cheeks flushed from the cold (and undoubtedly from running around, trying to find the older woman). She could only imagine trying to serve Molly Brown…

"Ah! Yes," Molly said, releasing Draco's shoulders and clasping her gloved hands together. "Annabelle, it's been lovely dear. Thank you for taking a stroll with me. Nicholas, I'll send for you before supper."

"Okay."

"Goodbye." Hermione tilted her head in a curtsy, giving the older woman a soft smile.

Once Molly had marched out of view, Draco visually relaxed, like a balloon deflating. He rubbed at his face.

"That woman is…" He said, seemingly trying to find a word to describe her.

"...American?"

"Yes. American." He agreed, his gaze travelling from the place where she had just left from back to Hermione herself. They stared at one another for a moment before seeming to realize who they were. Draco looked away while Hermione wrestled up the courage to tell him the truth.

"Malfoy," she dropped to a whisper, "we have to talk."

"Okay," he said, shrugging, "let's talk."

"Not here," she hissed and took him by his elbow and began walking quickly. She glanced over her shoulder and saw Horace lurking in the shadows. She could practically feel his burning gaze upon the two of them.

"What?"

"Horace is watching us," she whispered before calling loudly, "Lottie!?" She scanned the decks, hoping that the young serving girl was still nearby. Hermione saw her hop to attention by the guardrails, she had been leaning on them, gazing distractedly down at the third class decks. She spun on her heel and ran towards the two of them.

"Yes, Anna?" She asked, blushing furiously.

"I need you to distract Horace," Hermione said. "I need to speak to _Nicholas_ alone."

"How?" She squeaked, "Where is he?"

"He's following us," she said, "don't look now."  
"What do I do?" Lottie despaired. "I don't know what to do!"

"Just… I don't know!" Hermione stressed, also racking her brain for an excuse. "You could… Well..."

"Just pretend you lost your room key," Draco said, rolling his eyes as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "When he gives you his, drop it and make him pick it up. We'll use that moment to escape."

Lottie watched Draco speak nervously, wringing her hands.

"You're sure that'll work?"

"Positive."

"Please, Lottie?"

Lottie looked at the two of them before taking a deep breath in and spinning on her heel. After a few moments, Hermione chanced a peak over her shoulder. Lottie was conversing quickly with the tall man, using her hands to accentuate some sort of tall tale as to how she lost her key. The man watched the young servant with displeasure, but he wasn't watching them anymore.

"It's working!" She whispered, allowing a small smile of triumph to grace her painted lips.

"Of course it is," Draco rolled off.

Horace fished in his pockets for his key, but when he went to place it in Lottie's hands, the young girl fumbled for it clumsily and it fell to the deck's surface. Horace began to kneel down, back facing them-

"Now!" She hissed, and the two of them launched themselves forward. Hermione tried to keep her footsteps light, but it was difficult at the speed they ran. They rounded the corner and out of sight.

"Where do we go?" Draco asked, looking around for any sort of escape route.

Hermione had seen the entrance to some sort of gymnasium or fitness room up here on the right. She skidded as she made the sharp turn into the doorway. She pushed it open and motioned for him to follow. He ducked quickly inside and she followed suit. She shut the door behind them quickly and they both hunkered down, just out of sight from the outside world.

They looked at one another tensely, listening for Horace's rushed footsteps. He had surely realized by then they had gone missing. They breathed heavily as adrenaline pumped through their blood. Hermione waited several long moments before edging slowly upwards until they could see the outside world.

They watched as Horace rounded the corner, eyes sweeping side to side as he made his way around. Hermione could tell that he was panicking, but he concealed it well. She held her breath and ducked down as soon as he passed by their place in the window.

She began to internally count to ten. That would surely be enough time to make sure he'd completed his scan of that deck and had moved on.

One.

Two.

Three-

"He's gone," Draco said, halting her inner countdown. He had already pushed himself onto his feet and was dusting off his pants. "What did you do to make that man follow your every move?"

"Nothing!"

"Maybe it's because last night you tried to drown yourself," he said and looked at her pointedly, "full offense, Granger. That was the stupidest thing you've ever done."

Hermione bristled.

"Really, Malfoy? You're going to attack me after everything you've put me through?" She hissed back, also standing up and straightening out her dress. "I'd like to remind you that the only reason I was in that position is because you were skulking around the department of mysteries on your weird little Death Eater initiation mission."

"I do _not_ skulk."

"Why were you down there anyway?" She pressed, pointing an accusatory finger into his chest. He glared down at it. "What did Voldemort ask you to steal from the Hall?"

When he looked back up at her, all traces of warmth and humor were gone from his expression. Gone was any sort of positive influence his new identity had impressed upon him. He looked down his nose at the Gryffindor girl and lazily pushed her finger away.

"I don't see how it's any of your business," he said darkly.

"If I'm trapped here with you," she snapped, face flushing in anger, "it is my bloody business."

"The only reason we're on this ship is because you and your little hero friends had to save the fucking day and ruin everything!" He snapped back, growing louder, "if you would have just stayed at Hogwarts and minded your own bloody business, none of this would have happened!"

"We aren't going to stand by while you and _your_ Death Eater friends plot to destroy the world!" Hermione was shouting now, her hands trembling with emotion.

"Oh don't be so melodramatic, Granger," he rolled his eyes, "The Dark Lord doesn't want to destroy the world."

Her eyes narrowed, "no. He just wants to destroy muggleborns. Like me."

Draco's mouth opened and closed, like he was trying to think of a rebuttal, but nothing came to mind.

"You threatened to kill me," she accused with wide eyes, suddenly remembering.

"Oh please," he said, "I wouldn't have actually done it. It was a lie."

"That doesn't-" she began, pressing her hands to her face in frustration. She took a shaky breath and attempted to gather herself. This was certainly _not_ how she wanted this meeting to go. She supposed she should have known better than to think Draco Malfoy could be anything less than impossible and infuriating.

"You should have just let me jump," she whispered after several moments, tears blurring her vision, "you had the perfect opportunity to wipe me out. Saving me just delayed the inevitable."

"Come on, Granger," he said, rolling his eyes. "This is getting fucking annoying."

She stepped back, crossing her arms over her chest protectively.

"It was a mistake to think we could work together," she continued, swiping at the tears that had begun to race down her cheeks. "Just get out of here, Malfoy."

"No." He said.

"Then I'll leave," she moved to exit through the door, but he cut her off.

"No," he said again, blocking her way out, "we can work together to get out of this shithole even if we're on opposite sides."

She glared up at him, anger and sorrow still spilling from her eyes.

"No, Malfoy. We can't," she said, ducking under his arm and pulling open the door, "don't come to dinner tonight. Don't come back at all."

She ran from the room, the musty leather smell of the gym giving way to the now familiar salty wind. She would figure everything out on her own. She didn't need Draco Malfoy's help. She didn't need anyone but herself. Worst case scenario, she thought to herself, I'll hijack the ship.

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ _sorry for the wait, getting this BETAd took a little longer than I thought it would! What do you guys think so far of the plot/characters? I've never written so many OCs before, and I'm curious of how I'm doing!_

 _Review if you're feeling generous haha_


	7. Chapter 7

Draco Malfoy paced back and forth inside of the now-abandoned room that they had sought shelter in. How had that interaction gone so wrong? He had been sure that, given their mutual predicament, they would be able to set aside past wrongs and work together. Surely she wanted help as badly as he did!

He had noticed the way she had grown more open to him, even in such a small amount of time. Their stroll with Molly had been surprisingly pleasant. She seemed to be completely relaxed around him, so much so that he might have even accused her of enjoying herself; at points he had even seen a small smile on her lips…

So why had she just thrown away such a perfect opportunity to combine their respective resources? He knew just as well as anyone how much Hermione Granger loved coming up with schemes and plans.

It had all gone south once she had brought up his mission. He ran his fingers through his hair and sat on the nearest chair. Why did she have to interrogate him? Why couldn't she have just left it alone? It wasn't as if he had brought up the time that she'd physically assaulted him, or any of the other times that she and her Gryffindor mates had slighted him, or the time that crazed old man Moody had transfigured him into a ferret and they had all laughed… He had played the peacemaker and put all of that aside in an attempt to find a way out of this mess.

Besides, he certainly couldn't tell her the truth as to why he was down there; he could never tell anyone. She must have had some idea of the situation that she'd placed him in, grilling him like that.

And because of _this_ he was now facing down the reality of a voyage without her. He'd gotten so close to being able to have her — how it pained him to think it — _brilliant mind_ to help him get back to their world.

He was sure that he couldn't get back without her, and now she had given up on him completely. And for what? Some beliefs his family held? It wasn't _his_ fault she was muggleborn. She was simply being irrational. It was to both of their advantages to stick together. If she could put her pride aside they actually stood a chance.

He put his head between his knees, frustration coursing through him. What was he going to do now?

. . .

Later that day, Lottie found Hermione Granger alone in her quarters. She was sitting on her window seat, gazing out of the porthole, streaks of dried tears the only evidence of her terrible interaction with Draco.

"Miss?" She piped up hesitantly, and Hermione turned her distant gaze to the maid. "Are you okay?"

Hermione took a deep breath, causing her aching ribs to throb painfully as her lungs expanded; just another reminder of the distressing and tragic turn her life had taken. In her time she was the Brightest Witch of Her Age, best friends with the Boy Who Lived as well as numerous other amazing wizards and witches, attending the most influential and prestigious magical academy in the world. She had been well on her way to carving out a prolific path in both muggle and wizarding history.  
She looked down at the passport clutched in her fingers, and the name **ANNABELLE PAIGE** glared up at her mockingly.

In this world she was forced to be Annabelle. She was practically property: a pretty flower to be placed on a pedestal. She wouldn't have wished this existence on even her worst enemies.

"I'm not okay, Lottie," she whispered, fresh tears blurring her vision. Lottie saw the new batch of tears coming and dropped the wicker basket of linens she had brought in. The young girl rushed to the window and knelt at Hermione's side. She took the witch's hand in her own.

"Don't cry, Anna," The maid urged, "everything will be okay. Once you marry and move in with Winston you'll be rid of… _those_ two." She dropped to a whisper, eyes darting about the room, as if Martha and Horace could be hiding somewhere behind the curtains, or perhaps under the bed.

"It's not just that," she murmured, voice thick with grief, "I don't belong here."

"What do you mean?" Lottie asked, eyebrows furrowing, "Of course you do."

"I'm not from this time," she whispered, deciding to fully confide in her companion, "I'm not Annabelle." She had finally spoken her truth, and there it was: floating in the room, out in the open for another soul to hear. It felt invigorating to say it out loud.

"I'm not Annabelle Paige," she said it once more, just to revel in the heavy truth of the statement. Honestly, she felt as if she might have needed some reminding herself.

Lottie blinked rapidly, shaking her head in confusion.

"Did you have another nightmare, Miss?" She asked, pressing the back of her hand to Hermione's forehead, "Perhaps you're falling ill again?"

"No," she pulled away from the maid's touch, "I'm not sick."

"What's gotten into you?" She asked, searching Hermione's face for some sort of explanation. "You aren't making any sense."

Hermione looked at Lottie's bright blue eyes, they were so open and full of trust. She had been so sweet and helpful ever since she had been dropped into this nightmare. The young maid had truly been her only companion and she could tell that the girl genuinely wanted what was best for Annabelle. She sighed and turned to the window. This was a bad idea. She couldn't lead her down the convoluted story of how she had really ended up in her new identity.

The chance that Lottie would ever believe her was slim, even if she had tried to explain from the beginning. She had no wand, and she wasn't about to gamble on attempting wandless magic, perhaps endangering Lottie and the other passengers if it got out of hand- assuming she could even perform it on command in the first place- so she had no spells to prove that her story was more than just a tall tale. On the off chance that Lottie did believe her, what good would it do except to cause unnecessary stress?

"Never mind," she mumbled, still looking out the window, "I didn't mean anything by it."

"Anna…"

"You may continue your duties," Hermione said suddenly, causing the young girl to drop her hands.

Hermione watched in her peripheral vision as she stood from her spot and retrieved her basket of linen from across the room. With one final glance, she left.

With Lottie gone, Hermione truly felt like she was alone. Her thoughts turned to Draco Malfoy. She had pushed him away, too. She couldn't deal with him while knowing that he was a Death Eater. He hadn't given her any choice. How could she set aside her beliefs, her disgust and revulsion that she felt toward his bigoted views, even in this situation? She could never work alongside someone like him.

She had of course intended to tell him about the ship's fated sinking, but their fight had interrupted her plans. Guilt seeped into her stomach and nestled there in an uncomfortable ball. She knew it wouldn't unravel until she told him the whole truth.

Time was running out, and even _he_ deserved a fair warning. She would try to save the ship on her own, but she would still inform him so that he'd have a fair shot at surviving if things still went south.

" _Don't come to dinner, don't come back at all,"_ her own words came back to her. She closed her eyes and groaned in regret. How would she find him again? She had forbidden him from coming back, so she would have to go find him. She stood up, placing her passport back.

Hermione grabbed her button down coat and pulled it on. She remembered seeing the entrance to the third class decks somewhere, she could just retrace her steps and-

"Don't think you're going to escape supper," A familiar voice came like ice down the back of her dress. She whirled around to find her mother standing in the doorway with a dress draped over her arm. Hermione slowly began to unbutton her coat, looking at the floor.

She supposed telling Malfoy would just have to wait until tomorrow.

. . .

After being forcibly transformed once again— her hair pinned into a delicate updo, face painted into a mask she could barely recognize, tied into her lace gown— Hermione was ready for another frivolous meal surrounded by the Earth's most vapid group of people. She would have sighed if her aching ribs had enough room to expand, but the corset was too tight. Martha had made sure of it.

"No more mischief tonight," the woman hissed before handing Hermione a pair of silk gloves. She pulled them on and nodded mutely. She wouldn't call being abused and trying to throw herself overboard "mischief", but she didn't argue that. She had learned her lesson thoroughly.

Her "mother" headed out the door, leaving Hermione standing in their empty quarters, Horace watching her carefully. Hermione dragged her gaze up and forced herself to look him in the eyes. She would preserve her physical safety, but that did not mean that she would be reduced to a coward. She was a Gryffindor, and she would do right by her house.

As Horace stared back at her, black eyes penetrating her very soul, she wished she could say something and give him a piece of her mind.

"Don't think I didn't notice your little escape trick today," the grumbling man finally said, causing Hermione's stomach to churn. "If you pull something like that again, you'll be sorry."

On that ominous note, Hermione finally broke eye contact with him and looked towards the door. She forced herself to take one step forward. And then another. And then another. Then she was finally out into the corridor, Horace following close behind.

His constant presence was wearing on her and she had half a mind to find a way to lock him in a room if the ship did end up sinking.

Hermione spent the rest of the walk to the dining room fantasizing about the many ways Horace's cruelty could finally come to an end. Perhaps she could find her wand after all and curse him until he could no longer speak— or maybe she could build a rock-solid case against him and Annabelle's mother and turn them into the police upon the ship's arrival.

The witch was taking the steps of the grand staircase slowly, mind racing with all of the delightful scenarios when a flash of platinum hair caught her eye. She turned her attention down the stairs and saw Draco Malfoy gazing back up at her, a pleased smile on his face.

At the site of the Slytherin boy, her initial reaction was shock. She had told him to stay away, making it clear that he wasn't welcome… she really hadn't thought he would be so stubborn as to come anyways. He must have known she could have him thrown out with one word!

Once the initial surprise had worn off, the next thing she felt was relief; she no longer had to seek him out and search for him among the steerage passengers! Her third reaction was a little harder to define… Her mouth had gone dry and her hands had started to sweat beneath her silk gloves.

She took in his appearance. He looked like himself again, as she used to know him: his hair was slicked back in a style akin to the one he used to sport in their early years at Hogwarts, his tuxedo was surely as luxurious and well tailored as the dress robes she had seen him wear back home, and his bruising had faded even more. She wondered if Molly had convinced him to apply a bit of powder to it, or if he really was just a quick healer. If not for the black eye, he would have blended in with the first class passengers seamlessly; he looked handsome, regal, and perfectly groomed.

He looked like the Draco Malfoy she knew but- somehow... not quite the _same_ Draco? Even just two days in this world had imprinted on him, and it showed physically. Where his smile might have been a malicious smirk before, now it felt genuine, albeit mischievous.

In a moment of self consciousness, Hermione glanced down at her mauve, lace dress. Despite her better judgement, she found herself wondering if he liked what he saw. Did she look as elegant as he did? When he looked at her did he think she looked beautiful?

She hadn't paid the slightest bit of attention when they had dressed and groomed her, let alone ensured that _she_ liked what she saw. She was certainly regretting that now.

She neared the end of the staircase and he offered out his upturned hand. She noticed that it was clean…he must've had a bath. She stared at it for a few seconds before realizing he was asking for hers.

After a moment of hesitation she placed her gloved fingers in his. Her breath caught as he knelt down and— Merlin— placed a delicate kiss upon her gloved knuckles. It was like something straight out of one of those classic muggle films. She barely had time to register why he would do such an oddly romantic gesture before his voice came once more.

"You didn't really think you could keep me away, did you?" He murmured after his lips had lifted away.

When he looked up at her, a mischievous light in his grey eyes, she found that her previous anger wasn't entirely present. She had no idea what tangle of emotions she was feeling now, but she made a conscious decision not to analyze this new energy between them.

"No," she murmured back, a small smile tugging at her lips, "I suppose I didn't."

. . .

Draco had spent the entire time leading up to that night's dinner focusing on himself: how he would look, how he would act, what he would say… so much so, that he hadn't even considered Hermione in the equation of that night. He had psyched himself up so much on his unwanted presence in the first class dining quarters and lounge that the moment he had lain eyes on her as she descended the grand staircase, all rational thought had left him.

She looked— and he couldn't believe he was thinking this— _fucking brilliant._ Her lace gown clung to her in all the right places, the collar dipping right below her collarbones in the most exquisite yet sensible way. Her hair had been pinned so that a few curls were falling freely, framing her face perfectly. She was wearing makeup, too. The only time he had ever seen the Gryffindor girl sport anything other than lip balm was during the fourth year Yule Ball. This look was comparable in terms of total transformation. He couldn't believe that this was the same Hermione Granger who spent all of her time hiding beneath unflattering clothes and billowy black robes. Even the way she traveled down the steps seemed to have been transformed; she carried herself with a grace and elegance that he had never expected to see from her.

He had been so dumbstruck by her sudden and overwhelming presence, that he had done the only thing he could think of…he had taken her hand gently in his own and pressed his lips to the back of her gloved fingers. It wasn't an uncommon gesture in his world.

Draco Malfoy was no stranger to extravagant balls, ceremonies, and other assorted occasions. The first class Wizarding society was no laughing matter; it was practically a different dimension, with its own customs, gestures, and unspoken rules.

Once he had pulled himself away from her hand, he found his voice once more.

"You didn't really think you could keep me away, did you?" He quipped, looking back up at her.

The way she was gazing down at him was….unexpected, to say the least. He had been prepared for a practical shouting match, where he would have to hold his own while somehow managing to explain himself and extinguish the situation. He had even been prepared to- he shuddered mentally at the thought- apologize. He had certainly been expecting tight lips and furrowed brows; what he was receiving then could only be described as a soft smile and a delicate gaze.

"No," she whispered down to him, "I suppose I didn't."

Still entirely taken aback, he resorted to his pedigree programming to take control. He straightened up and and offered out his left arm wordlessly, eyes still locked on hers. She slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow and gently held it. It was the first touch between them since that afternoon when they had greeted one another in front of Molly Brown, being forced to play the roles of Annabelle and Nicholas as they awkwardly shook hands. Even though there were several layers of clothing between their arms, he could swear that he could feel the soft skin of her fingers where they pressed against him. They took the final steps down to the ornate wood floor of the landing before she broke eye contact.

She seemed to come back into herself a bit, looking forward as she quietly said, "We need to talk."

"Yes," he agreed, "we do."

"Good evening, Annabelle," a man with a curly white mustache chimed in, interrupting their sense of fleeting semi-privacy, and Hermione smoothly dipped her head in greeting.

"Sir Guggenheim, it's so lovely to see you," she responded politely, stopping to curtsy, and Draco couldn't help but be impressed by her seemingly natural ability to blend into higher society.

The night was turning out to be much more interesting than he had previously thought it would be.

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ _Things are picking up and I am so excited! I LOVE where this is going and I think you guys will too._

 _Also, I got a review about Hermione being a damsel in distress in this fic and it made me pause… I've been thinking a lot about it these last few weeks._

 _To that specific review I'd have to say that women in domestic abuse situations really exist… Does that make them damsels in distress? Or does it make them people who have resilience to persevere through physical/mental pain and the patience to escape when the time is right? Idk friends, I'm a feminist killjoy and I'm fairly aware of negative stereotypes in my writing, and I never considered Hermione in this story as a "damsel in distress."_

 _If this review was referring to Draco saving her from falling off the ship, the inspiration for that was directly from the film. It was my intention to reflect moments of the film in this fic and I'm not going to sacrifice my creative vision in order to make Hermione unrealistically infallible or superhuman. People have moments of vulnerability and often need help from others, (especially their friends). That doesn't make them weak. It makes them human._

 _Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk._


	8. Chapter 8

Despite the inviting scents and sounds of the first class dining hall, Hermione Granger began to gently steer them away from the intricate glass doors leading into the area. Draco was momentarily annoyed, as he had been wanting to see the kind of conditions these 'first class' muggles were accustomed to and whether or not they measured up to his standards… But then he realized that she was taking them somewhere with a bit less foot traffic and he understood. She wanted to talk. That was probably for the best.

The witch and wizard slowly made their way to the side of the massive staircase and down the length of the room until they were safely out of earshot of their fellow passengers. When she spun around and dropped his arm, he saw the serious edge in her eyes. He knew that whatever strange energy had passed between the two of them on the staircase was gone.

"Horace is somewhere around here," she whispered. Her eyes were darting about nervously, and Draco couldn't help but feel she was overreacting somewhat. He doubted the servant was truly that obsessed with everything Hermione did.

"It's fine," he told her, "I don't see him."

After a few more seconds of Hermione scanning the room, she turned her full attention back to him.

"Look," she began, "I know that you and I are on opposite sides. You're a Death Eater, now… but you still deserve to know-"

"Wait a second, Granger," he interrupted her, shaking his head, "when did I ever say that I was a Death Eater?"

That seemed to take her aback, her brown eyes widening in surprise. It seemed as though she had never considered him anything else. That made his stomach twist. Was he really so despicable to her?

"Malfoy, you had left Hogwarts grounds in the middle of the night," she began.

"So did you," he pointed out.

"You were in the Department of Mysteries _illegally-_ "

"So were _you_ ," he tried to interject, but she didn't stop her ceaseless accusatory yammering.

"-wearing a Death Eater mask, obviously stealing another prophecy for Voldemort."

"Fucking hell, Granger! I wasn't!" he admitted finally, "it wasn't for the Dark Lord. It had nothing to do with Death Eaters or Voldemort or Salazar or _anything."_

She studied him for a moment, red lips pursing together as she seemed to try and work out what he was playing at. He sighed inwardly. All of those years of stretching the truth and spreading rumors were certainly coming back to bite him.

"I don't believe you," she said. "You're lying. You just want me to feel sorry for you so you can use me-"

"Stop talking," he growled, reaching down to unbutton his barrel cuffs and rolled up the left sleeve of his suit jacket and white undershirt to expose the blank skin beneath. She stared down for several moments, blinking.

"You aren't…" she whispered, dumbstruck. He was going to pull his sleeve back down when she reached out and stopped him. She took a moment to swipe her fingers along the surface of his skin and the slight contact made him shiver. She looked at the white material on her fingertips. What was she looking for? Makeup?

"No," he said, "I'm not."

"But you were wearing the mask!"

"It was the nearest disguise, and I thought it wouldn't have been too bad to throw them off of my tracks and onto The Dark Lord's. But I'm _not_ a Death Eater."

"Then why did you let me believe that you were all this time?" She snapped, dropping his arm. He rolled his sleeves back down.

"Why would I bother trying to defend or explain myself?" He told her, fidgeting with the bottom of his sleeve to try and close it. "I knew how bad it looked. That's why I panicked and… overreacted - saying I'd kill you."

He continued to grapple with the stupid cuff, gritting his teeth in annoyance.

"I knew you would never believe me," he admitted. "why would you have?"

His frustration mounted, the golden button was simply _not_ cooperating with him. He grunted in annoyance, and clenched his fist. Hermione noticed him struggling and, in a surprisingly tender fashion, held his forearm still in one hand while she worked to close the two slits of his sleeves. She then secured both sets of buttons and cuffs with ease and Draco released a sigh.

He looked up to find her gazing at him, brown eyes on grey. She searched his face for any sign of deceit.

"Then why were you there?" She whispered, still holding his upturned hand in her own. "What were you looking for?"

"That's personal," he said, pulling suddenly out of her grasp. A flash of hurt shined in her eyes, but he ignored it.

"This isn't some big conspiracy, Granger. It was a prophecy to do with…something else...and I don't have to tell you." For a moment he actually considered telling her, for the sake of efficiency, but the hot panic and intense discomfort that flared up at the thought convinced him otherwise.

She looked like she wanted to press him some more, but a voice cut through their hushed conversation.

"For heaven's sake! You two look like you're at a funeral," Molly Brown cried, approaching them, "and what on earth are you doing over here in the corner? Everyone is askin' where ya headed off to!"

Hermione jumped, whirling around to face their guest. He could see Horace and another woman standing a few paces behind Molly. Draco had never seen this woman before, but by process of elimination he figured it had to be Hermione's mother in this world. By the looks of her, the old woman already didn't like him. She glared suspiciously between Draco and her.

"Were you ever planning on introducing us, Annabelle?" She said, stepping forward. Her hawk-like gaze swung back to Draco. If looks could kill, he'd be dead.

"Mother," Hermione piped up, looking more pale than Draco had ever seen her, "this is Nicholas."

"The pleasure is all mine, madame," he greeted her, doing his best to uphold all of the first class mannerisms that had been drilled into his brain over and over throughout the years.

Draco held out his upturned hand, but the woman simply looked at it in distaste, as if he were offering her a dead fish instead of his handshake.

"And does Nicholas have a last name?"

Hermione looked at Draco in alarm, brown eyes wide. He shook his head slightly, trying to convey that he had never learned it.

"Of course he does," she began, "it's uh.."

"Never mind," the tight lipped woman dismissed impatiently, glaring at them both, "I suppose it doesn't really matter. Come. We're expected at the table."

With that, she turned on her heel and began clicking her way across the luxurious lounge and into the dining room. Horace watched them expectantly.

Draco blinked a few times as his hand finally dropped to his side. He glanced at Hermione, who only nodded tiredly in response. He had known that woman for a total of twenty seconds and he could already tell that she was an absolute dictator.

"Come on you two," Molly said, motioning her hands in an ushering wave. "Don't want to keep her waiting or y'all might be what's on the menu."

. . .

All throughout dinner, Hermione Granger couldn't stop thinking about how Malfoy had greeted her at the bottom of the grand staircase. She could still feel the imprint of his lips tickling the skin under the fabric of her gloves. She could still feel her heart beat wildly in her chest as something electric passed between them. What in Merlin's beard _was_ that?

She thought Draco had hated her…why would he kiss her and speak to her in that hushed tone? The only way she could describe their interaction is that it would have been better suited between two almost-lovers.

If he thought it was funny to play up the romantic bits of their new dynamic, Hermione wouldn't shy away. He wanted to embarrass her, she was sure of it, and she'd have to try her best to play along… Although she _could_ make the case that it was way more than what was needed in order to play their parts. A simple "good evening" would have sufficed, and if she brought it up, he would certainly tone it down. As the night went on, she kept stealing glances across the dinner table at him as he spent the entire meal wooing the circle of wealthy men and women.

They loved him. He was charming and elegant and everything Hermione Granger wasn't. He knew what to say and when to say it. He was very obviously born into this world, and he played this game like a fiddle.

That night was unfolding in a peculiar way. All of the other times she had sat at this table, her night was a blurry whirlwind of mind-numbing conversation, introductions to dozens of people whom she couldn't possibly remember, glasses of bubbling champagne, and plate after plate of five star dishes she had never even heard of. Of all the past nights, Hermione never felt really inside herself; it always felt as though she was a little outside of her body, like she was nothing more than a third party spectator watching a particularly boring and lavish play unfold.

But now she was so aware of herself it was painful. Was she using the right utensils? Was she sitting up straight enough? Did her red lipstick fade away unsightly as she took delicate sips from her crystal glass? She had done her best to observe the men and women around her to pick up on social cues and mannerisms over the past two days. Did Draco think that she fit into this world, or did he see through her?

She found herself gazing at him openly once more, pondering her sudden need for his approval. Was it the fact that she now knew that he wasn't a death eater? She had seen the bare, unmarked skin of his left arm... Maybe this whole time she had been too harsh on him-

 _No!_ She shook herself. Sure, she knew that he wasn't an official member of Voldemort's army, but that didn't mean he wasn't a bad guy.

She watched him from her spot directly across the table, trying to come up with some sort of reason why he would need to get his hands on a prophecy.

Was it about him? His family? It had to have been. There was no other explanation.

As if he sensed her gaze, he turned his head until their eyes met. His lips tilted up ever so slightly when he surely realized he had caught her staring.

Her face warmed and she looked away.

"And what brings you to the United States, Nicholas?" A kind looking man piped up from the end of the table in his soft Irish accent. He had curly hair, charmingly large ears, and kind eyes cradled by laugh lines. Hermione had met him her first night on the ship, but most of the faces and names had gone in one ear and out the other. At that point she had still been riding the waves of shock.

The Gryffindor girl knew he was higher up in the chain of command of those who worked on the ship, but that was it. Draco blinked in surprise and looked up at the man. He was about to answer when he was cut off.

"Labor, surely," Martha said, a single brown eyebrow raising in distaste. Draco's eyes narrowed a fraction and Hermione swallowed. Oh dear, she had been on the other end of that glare dozens of times. He was angry, and she could practically feel malice radiating off of him in waves.

"Let the boy speak for himself, Martha," Molly tisked and turned her full attention to Draco, who looked away from Hermione's mother and addressed the entire table.

When Draco spoke, his tone was harsher that it had been all night: "Despite your assumptions, Madame Paige, I'm _not_ a laborer. I didn't mean to board this ship, and I actually never intended to go to the United States," he said and the entire table hushed, any side conversations ceasing in the aftermath of such a strange statement. "So, I suppose you could say that I'm trapped."

Hermione's blood went cold. What was he doing? She tried to catch his gaze, shaking her head slightly.

The society men and women exchanged glances with one another, trying to understand the context of his statement. Was it a joke? Surely it must have been a joke.

"Trapped?" One of the men asked, holding up his spectacle.

"I'm not even from this time," he said nonchalantly, taking a sip of his wine, "I'm afraid I've been sent one hundred years into the past."

Hermione shook herself mentally and kicked him underneath the table. Wine sloshed precariously around his glass as her foot connected with his leg and he doubled over in pain. He glared at the Gryffindor, but she didn't feel guilty for the assault on his shin, in fact, she wanted to do it again. She also wanted to scream at him _"What are you doing? Are you a blimey fool!?"_ She glared daggers at him, and he glared right back.

"What a peculiar thing to say," one of the women murmured.

"The rats in third class must be carrying some sort of madness," Martha said, glaring at Draco.

Hermione despaired, things had been turning around, and now he was about to expose them! What a bloody fool! If she had her wand she would freeze his mouth shut before he could dig their grave any deeper.

"I can assure you that there are no rats on my ship, Martha," the man at the end of the table said, and Hermione realized who he was: Thomas Andrews. The Naval Architect who had been tasked with building the ship. The shock from her discovery had to take a backseat to their current situation. She filed the vital information safely away it the back of her mind. She was still reeling from Draco's audacity.

"I'm certainly not mad," Draco insisted, a mocking tone to his voice, "I've fallen through a magical portal, and now I'm stuck here with my schoolmate, and we have to try and find our way back to our time otherwise we'll never see our families or friends ever again. The only problem is that neither of us have our magic wands."

The table was quiet for a few moments, everyone trying to untangle the mystery that Draco had become in such a few short moments. He had began the meal as a surprisingly polite and charming steerage boy, and now he looked as though he was as loony as Xenophilius Lovegood. Hermione wanted to melt into a puddle right where she sat, but she forced herself to sit up straight. She clutched the edge of the table cloth and looked around the group, gauging everyone's reactions. Confusion. Apprehension. Humor. Concern.

Draco sat among them, a cruel edge twisting his smile. What was he playing at?

"By golly! You must be quite the author!" Molly realized loudly and pointed a plump finger in Draco's direction before letting out the loudest laugh Hermione had ever heard.

Her heart skipped at the woman's revelation: _a way out!_

"Yes! Yes he is!" She said, eyes widening at Draco. She forced a smile, "Nicholas showed me some of his work. It's like nothing I've ever seen! Especially the story with the two schoolmates thrown back in time. He's very talented."

The tension in the table broke instantly, a few of the men chuckling loudly.

"Quite an imagination in that one," one of them said, twirling his snowy mustache.

"Tell me," Martha said after a few moments, eyes shining with suspicion, "where did you study to write such tales?"

"A little private school called Hogwarts," Draco rolled off, "you might not have ever heard- _ow_!"

Hermione's foot silenced him once more. Her wide eyes met his, and she wished she could scream into his brain. She had done so much to ensure that no one would think she was psychotic, and Draco didn't seem to care at all! He must not have known how muggles in this era treated the mentally ill.

"Hogwarts," Molly said, as if testing out the word on her tongue, "what an interestin' name."

"I've never heard of such an institution," Martha said, unrelenting in her barrage of questions. "Tell me: how did a boy of your financial status attend a _private_ school?"

"Scholarships," Hermione piped up before Draco could retort; she could see his temper was flaring once more, "wealthy benefactors will often gift money through tuition grants for those students who are…less privileged."

"It's true," one of the women confirmed, resting a hand on her husbands arm, "Jonathan and I have been giving to Oxford for a few years now. The school holds an annual banquet, and it's quite lovely."

"Oh! In the Autumn? William and I attended last year, perhaps we sat near you."

The conversation was moving on, and it looked like everyone bought the "overly imaginative author" lie. Hermione relaxed slightly, releasing a shaky breath before turning to Draco and giving him a look that said _"what were you thinking, you fool?"_

He shook his head in response.

Anger flared through her once more. What was that supposed to mean!? She kicked at him again, but her toes found only air. He must have tucked his legs strategically away from her. He grinned devilishly as he watched her struggle to land another blow.

Death Eater or not, he was a bloody nuisance.

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_

 _Sorry for the wait. Adult life is…. Exhausting. I never signed up for this lmao_

 _Also, isn't Draco such a brat? I love that guy, but he definitely wouldn't sit back while people talked down to him and his pride would DEFINITELY get the better of him in a situation like that._

 _Let me know what you think! I can't wait for you all to see the direction this fic is heading in… I think you'll be pleased._


	9. Chapter 9

The rest of dinner passed without incident and, for once, Hermione was grateful that Malfoy was a Slytherin. The table had been curious about Nicholas's supposed career as a literary genius, and asked Draco dozens of questions which he answered seamlessly. His answers were so convincing that even Hermione had wondered if he was telling truth, and was secretly an aspiring fictional author.

At one point, Annabelle's mother looked pointedly in Draco's direction and told him: "Annabelle is engaged to be married once we arrive in New York, isn't that lovely?"

Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes, the older woman was obviously trying to place boundaries and put Draco in his place.

He didn't miss a beat. He looked at Hermione and raised his glass.

"Congratulations, Annabelle," he said, loud enough for the entire table to hear, "may you have a long and happy marriage."

"Hear hear!" One of the men seconded and the next thing Hermione knew the entire table was raising their glasses in a sign of respect. Hermione glanced at her mother, who was glaring venomously in Draco's direction.

She looked at the Slytherin. He winked. She smiled.

Once the desert plates had been emptied and the glasses of champagne and wine had been drained. the men stood up to pardon themselves to the brandy room. At that, Hermione sat up a little straighter and, once she had Draco's attention, tilted her head in the direction of the exit. They still had much to discuss.

Draco got her message and stood up himself, "I think it's time for me to retire as well. Thank you all for a lovely evening."

"I bet they don't have dinners like this in the year 2000!" One of the men said humorously, nudging the Slytherin boy with his elbow before bursting out into raucous laughter.

"No, I can assure you they don't," he said, nodding, before turning back to Hermione and nodding slightly, "Annabelle."

"Nicholas," she said.

"It was nice to see you."

"It was nice to see you, too."

"I'm glad you didn't fall overboard."

Hermione smiled. "I'm glad you were there to catch me."

It was then that she realized that her statement was true, and that she hadn't said it merely because it would be what Annabelle would say. She truly was glad that Draco Malfoy had been there that night. And she was even glad that he was there at dinner. She wasn't sure why, but with him around, the ship felt a little more steady beneath her feet. She watched him go, and he glanced briefly over his shoulder at her one last time before exiting.

"What a nice boy," someone said.

"He is quite bright," Thomas Andrews responded before departing with the rest of the gentleman to the brandy room. "Good evening, ladies."

"Mr. Andrews!" she gasped, suddenly remembering him and how important his role in her mission was. She rose from her place. The man in question turned around in surprise, an unlit cigar dangling from his lips. She realized then that the entire table was watching her expectantly, she grasped for the words, "I was wondering if I could sit down with you at some point and… ask you some questions about this ship?"

The women at the table gawked at her brazenness. Hermione winced internally. Was it a strange request?

"It-it's such a marvelous machine, I just thought it would be interesting to learn more."

He took the cigar from his lips and gave her a charming smile, "I would love to, my dear. We can sit down tomorrow for tea."

Hermione smiled at him, a genuine sense of hope blooming in her chest. If she could sit down with the ships architect, surely she could gather enough information in order to avoid the tragedy! She sat back down in her seat, still smiling softly.

For the first time since she had boarded, she felt the tides turning. Draco wasn't a death eater. They could potentially work together to save the vessel from sinking into icy Atlantic waters. And she knew just who to talk to to get information!

"Wow, look at that smile," Molly commented, "Nicholas cracked you open like an oyster in an otter's hands." The table erupted into scandalized giggles.

Hermione started and looked up at the grinning women.

"He is quite handsome," one of the younger girls murmured.

"And charming," another woman supplied.

"He's a street rat with something to hide," Martha said, voice filled with venom "It would do you well to stay away from him, Annabelle."

"I understand," Hermione said, unphased. She had known that Anna's mother would forbid her from seeing him again, "I'm quite tired. May I go back to our room?" Hermione asked, itching to escape. She wished she could just get up and walk away, but it would certainly be the scandal of the night. She sighed inwardly, the last thing she needed was another public scene.

Martha stared at her through slitted lids for several moments before nodding her consent. Hermione pushed away from the table and stood up, butterflies fluttering about inside her ribcage.

"Horace," Her mother called, holding up her finger. Hermione's heart sank, the smile dropping from her face. She couldn't get away if Horace was tagging along.

" _Don't think I didn't notice your little escape trick today. If you pull something like that again, you'll be sorry."_ His words echoed ominously in her skull.

The man pushed himself away from his lurking spot on the edge of the dining room and stalked towards their table. Hermione swallowed hard. She would never get an alone moment with Malfoy.

"Aw, come on Martha!" Molly said, polishing off the last of her wine, "She's a big girl."

She turned her attention to Hermione.

"You can make it back to your room on your own, can't ya?" She smiled big, giving the younger girl a wink.

"Yes, of course," she said, nodding.

"I do think she's old enough," another woman piped up.

"The walk back to your quarters can't be that treacherous, can it?" Another voice joined the chorus.

The women at the table laughed in unison, and Hermione saw Martha sit up a little straighter, eyes darting about nervously. She was being judged, and that simply wouldn't do.

"Yes, of course," she finally relented, waving Horace away. She looked her daughter in the eyes, "go straight back. Don't get into any trouble."

"Yes, mother," Hermione breathed, trying to contain her giddiness, "Thank you. Good evening, everyone."

"Goodnight, darlin', sleep tight," Molly said, a twinkle in her eye. The American certainly sensed that Hermione was up to no good.

It took all of Hermione's strength to not break out into a sprint as she made her way out of the dining room and back out into the main area. She could feel her mother's eyes burning holes in her back as she walked away.

Hermione scanned the room until she caught a glimpse of his platinum hair at the first landing of the grand staircase. Draco was waiting for her, gazing at the clock as the hand made its way around. She took the steps slowly, gazing up at him. She could see the side of his handsome face, and she wondered what it would be like to graze her lips across the soft porcelain of his cheek.

Before she could even register the imaginary scenario her treacherous brain had conjured, he had glimpsed her from the corner of his eye, and turned to her.

"It's about time. I've been waiting at _least_ three minutes, Granger," his words were harsh, but his tone was playful.

"What kind of stunt was that in there?" She asked.

"I like to keep things interesting."

She resisted the urge to smack him. Instead, she showcased her graciousness and slipped her arm gently into the crook of his elbow.

"Muggles are not animals you can toy with," she said under her breath, remembering Horace's brutality. "They're more dangerous than you think. You can't do that again."

"Alright, alright," Draco sighed.

She would chastise him more later on the importance of secrecy. They climbed the final stretch of the staircase in silence. Draco glanced down the side and stiffened slightly.

"Bloody hell," he breathed.

"Is it Horace?"

"Yes."

"Should we make a run for it?" Her heart skipped a beat.

"Hold on. Hold on."

They made it to the top of the staircase and walked slowly until they were out of sight.

"Run!" Draco hissed.

They released one another and broke out into a sprint. Hermione swore she could see the black whirl of Horace following them up the stairs, which only made her heart pound harder. They ran as fast as they could, but Hermione didn't catch the memo that Draco wanted to go down the corridor to their left, so she skidded to a halt as he disappeared from view.

"Malfoy!" She hissed, whirling back around.

"Come on!" He cried and she stumbled after him, her heels severely inhibiting her speed. As quickly as she could, she kicked them off and pulled her gloves off while she was at it, tossing both in the nearest hamper. She squealed in horror and excitement as Draco reached back to grab her now-bare hand and pulled her until she was in step with him. They ran down the winding corridor of first class accomodations until the hallway looped back around and let out once more into the grandiose staircase.

"Where do we go?" Hermione asked breathlessly.

"Down." Draco said and they began their rushed descent. They smiled and greeted everyone on the steps as they passed quickly by them. Hermione could feel her hair falling free from its pins as they went.

"Hello!"

"Good evening."

Cries of shock and horror rang out in their wake.

"How do you do?" Draco mocked, almost knocking an older woman over.

"Lovely dress!" Hermione cried, doing her best to avoid any bystanders. It struck Hermione how positively strange they must look.

She couldn't believe just how many levels of the grand staircase there were, in all of the grainy black and white photos, it looked as though there was only one set of the beautifully crafted oak stairs. In reality, there must have been at least a dozen levels. It took her breath away, both figuratively, and literally. She chanced a glance over at Draco. Like her, he was smiling. Even though this chase was undoubtedly dangerous, it was the most fun she had had since boarding the vessel.

And for once, she noticed, her abused ribs weren't bothering her.

Even though neither of them saw Horace following behind them, they didn't stop. They didn't even _think_ about slowing down until the ceilings got shorter, hallways got narrower, and the lights got dimmer: signaling their arrival into the third class quarters. Hermione didn't know how Draco had been able to get them there through such a labyrinth of identical looking corridors, but he had. She appraised him with a new sort of admiration. He was quick, resourceful, and he somehow already knew his way around.

On their trek down, they had walked by at least a dozen third class passengers making their way to their rooms, and they stared openly at the two of them. She gave a polite smile and a nod to each of them, trying to communicate that they didn't need to treat her differently. She wished there was an easy way to tell them all that she was one of them.

As the witch and wizard made their way further into the bowels of the ship, the smell of mead, roast potatoes, and all sorts of miscellaneous scents wafted up towards them. They slowed to a halt as the sounds of a raging party echoed up to them from a set of wooden stairs.

"It looks like the party's already started," he said, looking back at her, a few strands of his blonde hair falling free from its gelled back style and into his grey eyes. "We could lose just about anyone down there."

Hermione wasn't listening to him, she was too busy noticing that his hand had never left hers. She gazed down at their intertwined fingers and stared dumbly for several moments. He had been using their clasped hands as a way to anchor them both to one another as they raced their way through the winding halls of the Titanic, but they had stopped running minutes ago, and now they were completely still… yet he did not let her out of his grasp.

This was not the first time their hands had touched: he had held her wrists against her will until his fingers left bruises on her skin, he had clutched her fingers desperately as she almost slipped through his grip and plunged into the ocean, he had shaken her hand as they stumbled through their first interaction as Nicholas and Annabelle - not to mention, a few hours ago he had held her hand delicately in his own before grazing her knuckles with his lips!

Yes, they had most certainly touched before; all of the moments played over and over in her head with a startling clarity, so she knew for certain that this instance was different.

Draco Malfoy was holding Hermione Granger's hand, skin against skin, and it seemed as though he hadn't even realized he was doing it. Had he grown so comfortable with his rival that he had no problem touching and holding her for long periods of time?

If they had found themselves holding hands a few days prior she was sure the Slytherin would have sneered in disgust and wiped his hand on his dress robes. Over the years he had made it abundantly clear what he thought of Hermione: he was disgusted by her blood, and by extension her very skin.

When Hermione didn't respond, Draco followed her gaze down to find their hands intertwined. He freed her from his grasp immediately. He turned away from her, quickly rubbing the back of his neck.

"I hadn't noticed," he murmured, and Hermione's stomach flipped in response. Was he blushing?

"It's okay," was all she said, heart fluttering inside of her chest. She couldn't help but notice how cold her hand felt without his. What was happening to her?

"Let's go get a table."

. . .

As they made their way down the wooden steps, the first thing that struck Draco was the music; it was unlike anything he had ever heard. The main melody was coming from some sort of reedy-sounding muggle contraption, which was somehow constructed out of multiple tubes and-was that a bag? For what was certainly not the first time in the past few days, Draco found himself astounded at muggle ingenuity. The other band members' instruments were more easily recognizable, and Draco couldn't help but tap his hand against the railing with the rhythm as they arrived at the bottom of the worn stairs.

They found themselves on the outskirts of a sizable mass of churning muggles. Draco was tempted to take Hermione's hand once more- just to lead her through the boisterous crowd, of course- as it felt as though the entire third class was present that night. Everyone and their mother populated the dance floor; clapping, dancing, and singing along to the infectious tune played by the muggle band.

There was hardly any room to stand, let alone maneuver their way through. To hold her hand would have simply been a helpful link to keep them from being separated, but after what had just happened, he couldn't bring himself to do it. His fingers still tingled with the memory of her hand in his. He didn't have time to delve into why he hadn't let her go, so he pushed it to the back of his mind.

Draco looked back to ensure that Hermione was still following him, and sure enough, despite being jostled about quite a bit by the inebriated passengers, she was close behind. The Gryffindor took in her surroundings, a smile on her face stretching from ear to ear. She was seemingly unbothered by the plethora of sweaty bodies pressing into her at all sides, and her hair had fallen from its neat pins, the unkempt strands cascading down the sides of her face. In his opinion, it only accentuated the carefree grin and the sparkle in her eyes. He swallowed hard and turned back around-

-only to run squarely into what felt like a big, warm, sweaty brick wall. What in the bloody hell?

"Nick!" Hamish's voice cried and Draco looked up to find his friend beaming down at him with rosey cheeks. He was obviously drunk. The man enveloped him in a giant bear hug.

"Hamish!" Draco cried back, unable to keep the smile from his face. After having been in the first class lounge with such terribly proper people, his Scottish friend was a sight for sore eyes. He slapped his back in a friendly gesture before Hamish let him go.

"Where've yeh been- and good Lord, what're yeh wearin'?" He began, stepping back and looking down at Draco's tuxedo. Well, not Draco's. Molly Brown's son's. He continued in a slurred manner: "Yeh found a suit! Yeh look like some sort of prince!"

"Thanks, mate!" he cried, straining to be heard over the sounds of stamping feet and inebriated cheers.

"And who's this beauty?" Hamish asked over Draco's head, peering curiously down at Hermione. Draco turned and motioned for her to come closer. She gazed up hesitantly at the towering man.

"Hermione, this is Hamish!" Draco shouted loud enough for both of them to hear, "Hamish, Hermione!"

 _"Nick!"_ Hermione pinched him and leaned in to say in his ear, "you just called me Hermione!" He was too distracted by the hand on his shoulder and her breath tickling his ear to even register what she was telling him.

"It's nice to meet yeh, Hermione! Yeh must be the lass who almost fell off the ship!" Hamish said, reaching out a hand in greeting. Hermione offered hers and as they shook she looked at Draco in bewilderment. It was then that he realized his error: he had introduced her with her real name instead of Annabelle.

Draco was stumped for a moment, looking from the witch to his friend. He supposed it didn't really matter, did it?

"We can say it's a nickname," he offered back, only loud enough so that she could hear.

She crossed her arms, obviously disgruntled at his mix-up.

"Relax Granger," he said in her ear, and he felt her tense up at his close proximity. "They're my-Nick's friends. They won't turn us in or anything."

"Hermione, yeh _have_ to meet everyone!" Hamish said, taking her under his wing - metaphorically _and_ physically. He ushered her to a corner of the room, Draco following close behind.

They found their group sitting at a table, empty pints and plates littering the scuffed wooden surface. Sam and Tommy were hunched together, talking loudly. It looked like they were in some sort of debate.

"She absolutely does!" Tommy said.

"No she doesn't!" Sam cried back.

"They wouldn't let Lady Liberty be immodest!"

"She's a statue, Tommy! Why would they give her knickers?!"

"Decency!" The Irish man stressed, slamming a fist onto the table.

"She's made of copper, you oaf!"

"Oi! Look who I found!" Hamish called, breaking through their conversation. The two boys looked up to find Hermione, who smiled sheepishly and waved.

"Hello," she greeted.

The two boys stared openly at her and Draco rolled his eyes. If their jaws could have been any looser, they would have been on the table.

"Oh my-" Tommy said and stood suddenly, removing his cap and bowing slightly before her. "I would have worn my finest clothes if I had known we would be graced with the presence of an angel tonight. I'm Tommy."

Sam stood and offered out his dark hand and a charming smile, "the name's Sam. It's nice to meet you!"

"You're American!" Hermione greeted in surprise.

"I am! I can show you around when we get there, and I can get you a drink right now."

A hot spike of something akin to anger coursed through Draco as he watched his companions fall all over themselves to please Hermione.

"It's nice to meet you both, but I'm alright for now," She said, blushing under their intense gazes.

"Would you like to sit down with us?" Tommy asked, guiding her to their table. Sam offered her his chair. Hermione giggled as she sat down, obviously entertained by the two men's antics.

"Control yourselves, boys," Draco said and shoved his way forward, making himself seen. He crossed the floor to be by her side, lying a hand on her shoulder. "You're in the presence of high society."

At the sight of Draco's tuxedo, Tommy whistled and Sam's eyebrows shot up.

"Look at that," Sam said, "you clean up pretty well."

"Of course I do," he snapped and moved to sit next to Hermione, but not before taking off the black jacket and draping it over the back of his oak chair. It was unbearably hot in the dining hall, and he could feel the beads of sweat already forming on his brow.

"Wait-" Tommy realized suddenly, putting two and two together, "so this is the one? The girl you saved?"

Hermione craned her neck to glare at Draco through the smoke. He knew she was going to grill him later on how many people he had told the story to, as well as every detail in it. She whirled back around and interjected before Draco could confirm Tommy's suspicion himself.

"That's me, Damsel-in-Distress at your service," she shouted, smiling and shaking both of their hands. "You can call me Hermione."

"Hello, Hermione!" They cried back, grinning from ear to ear in a way that made Draco want to vomit. They were so obviously smitten with her... It was pathetic.

"You should go get us some drinks," Draco said and tossed some coins onto the table. It was closer to an order than a suggestion. "Both of you."

Tommy and Sam stood up straight and pouted, like two boys being chastised by their father to do their chores. The American boy pocketed the money Draco had dropped and they disappeared into the crowd, Hamish tagging along behind them.

Draco watched Hermione's expression as she watched them go.

"I like them," she said once she had turned her attention back to the Slytherin. At her admission, something coiled in his stomach.

"You shouldn't," he said quickly, "they smell horrid and they curse like sailors."

Hermione laughed. "So do you!"

"Excuse me! I took a bath today," he gasped indignantly. She grinned in response.

"Yeah, but you hadn't before! I saw how you are as Nick, remember?" She offered, crossing her arms in her typical _"I've Got You Now"_ pose.

"Nick simply can't afford for me to always be as handsome as I was tonight!"

"Oh, please," She waved him away, "You _are_ always handsome!"

Draco froze, looking at Hermione in surprise. At first she hadn't seemed to comprehend what had escaped her mouth, but the expression on her face when she fully realized what she had said…was priceless. The Slytherin smiled at her, an eyebrow raised expectantly.

"I'm sorry…" he said, cupping a hand around his ear, "I'm _what?"_

"Nothing!" She cried, her face a blend of disbelief and mortification, "I didn't say anything!"

"No, I'm pretty sure I heard a certain Gryffindor say that I, Draco Malfoy, am… gorgeous, was it?" he pressed forward, delighting in the pink tinge that spread across her cheeks at his teasing words. He didn't want to admit it, but she was cute when she was flustered.

"I think I fancy a dance!" She said, standing up suddenly and backing into the crowd, "don't follow me!"

"I'd rather walk through the Great Hall naked!" He called.

She shrugged in a suit-yourself fashion before being swallowed by the crowd. Part of Draco grew anxious when she left his sight, but he reminded himself that the fear was irrational. She was safe there. He had a clear view of the stairs leading in and out, so he could keep an eye on anyone suspicious slinking down.

When Hamish, Sam, and Tommy had found their way back to their table they set down a handful of glasses. The dark beer sloshed messily onto the table.

"Where's Hermione?" Sam asked, looking around.

"She's dancing," Draco said, trying to find her through the smoke in the mass of bodies without being too obvious about it. There! Like the red sea parting, the crowd separated until he could see Hermione Granger twirling and dancing with a few other steerage women, not a care in the world. The room seemed to grow quieter as he watched her.

"I like her," Hamish said and clapped a hand on Draco's shoulder.

"Yeah," he said after a few moments, the weight of his newfound feelings lying heavily upon his chest.

* * *

 _ **A/N:** _

_Wow! Time flies. I literally thought I had updated like ... 7 days ago? Turns out it's been a LOT longer. Life is so mysterious and time is fake!_ _Hopefully I'll get the next one out sooner! It's already written. Let me know what you think! Leave a review. It literally makes my day. I read them over and over (no joke)_


	10. Chapter 10

Hermione Granger couldn't remember the last time she had enjoyed herself as much as she was that night. Even back at Hogwarts, she had been knee deep in studying for her OWLS, still reeling from the death of Sirius Black and the newfound darkness that had spread over the entire wizarding world.

The third class mess hall was a completely different world than the first class dining lounge that she had grown accustomed to, but she found that she preferred it down here one hundred times over. The women down here were a breath of fresh air; they didn't care if they stood up so straight that a book could balance upon their heads like crowns, they paid no mind to their lipstick rubbing away on the rim of their pints of beer, in fact, she could barely spot any makeup in sight! Of course they weren't as rowdy as their male counterparts, but they could certainly hold their own: they laughed openly, they drank, and they danced.

Blimey, did they dance! Hermione could barely keep up with the line of people stepping to and fro, the rhythmic patterns of everyone's' tapping feet completely lost on her. She was sandwiched in between two strangers, who were trying fruitlessly to help her keep up. The woman on her right was calling out the steps to her, but it was useless, Hermione kept tripping over herself. She laughed and shook her head, finally breaking away from the line and apologizing.

"I'm sorry! I just don't think I can keep up!" She shouted over the laughter and music.

"It's not about keeping up," the kind woman with curly black hair laughed back, still keeping in time with the steps. "It's about having fun!"

"We're going to the new world, love!" A man with kind green eyes and crooked teeth said in a strong Cockney accent. He spun a young girl with his same green eyes and short brown hair around in his arms. "It's a fresh start for us all!"

Hermione watched the glee in the small child's face as her father twirled her around and around. She must have been about six years old, and her giggles caused a sudden drop in Hermione's stomach. As if being doused in freezing cold water, Hermione stopped in her tracks, the smile falling off of her face.

As she took in the crowd around her, a shiver travelled down her spine. That same room that was pulsing with life, music, energy- filled to the brim with people celebrating the end of one chapter and the start of another- would soon be resting on the murky, black depths of the ocean floor. The salt would corrode away the wood, and rust over the iron. The hull would cave in on itself as it rotted away and leave the interior of the ship a home for deep-sea wildlife. This room would be virtually unrecognizable. Of course, Hermione had seen the underwater photos the high-tech submarines had captured…yet, until that moment, it had truly never hit home just how tragic the sinking was. How something so beautiful, grand, and full of life, could end up in such devastating ruin.

The room began to spin around her, and she swayed unsteadily on her feet. The people here most likely wouldn't have the chance to board a lifeboat or even escape the third class quarters that would eventually become their salty, frozen tomb.

With a feeling akin to a punch to her gut, Hermione Granger realized that she was in a room full of corpses.

"Are you okay, love?" The man with the baby asked, a concerned look in his eye.

"Papa, she's going to barf!" The little girl cried. Hermione dimly realized that she must have gone pale.

"That's not a nice thing to say, darling."

"No! No, I'm alright," she said, working overtime to plaster a reassuring smile on her face. "I just need to sit down for a moment. Thank you."

She turned and made her way back to the corner she had left Draco in, trying to repress the hot whips of panic coursing through her. She took deep breaths to keep from crying. It wouldn't do her any good to break down now. The best way she could help these people would be to keep a cool head and work towards an actual solution.

"She's back!" Hamish said, holding out his pint. Tommy and Sam lifted their drinks and cried _"Ayyy!"_ in a greeting.

Hermione offered what she hoped was a believable smile to all three of them before settling back into her spot next to Draco. She could feel his gaze upon her, but she couldn't look at him. If she met his eyes, she would surely unravel. She wasn't sure how she knew this, or why she would have such a reaction to the Slytherin boy, but she didn't have the brain power to analyze it.

"Here, Missy," Tommy said before placing a pint of beer in front of her with a wink, "just for you."

Thankful for the distraction, Hermione took the beer and began to drink it. It was stronger than any beer she had ever tasted, hoppy and bitter. It didn't taste good, but she didn't let herself pull away and wrinkle her nose in displeasure. Instead, she pushed on. For years she had been pampered by Butterbeer, which was a delightful mixture of sweet and salty, and went down her throat with the greatest of ease. She could tell that this was _real_ beer. Real, rugged, _muggle_ beer for hard working men and women.

Before she realized what she was doing, she was drinking the entire thing, gulping down large mouthfuls. It wasn't that she was thirsty, it was that she didn't want to face that night with a clear mind. If she couldn't keep a cool head, she would keep a fuzzy one. She couldn't keep thinking of how all of these wonderful people she had befriended tonight would certainly perish in a few days time. That is, if she failed her mission.

"For Salazar's sake, Granger," Draco said beside her, sounding particularly annoyed. She didn't let herself feel guilty. She had been on the tipping point of a full blown meltdown and the glass of mead had pulled her back from the brink.

 _Does that make me an alcoholic?_ She wondered darkly.

It was then that she realized all three men were staring at her with wide eyes and disbelieving grins. They were speechless, gaping at one another and at her.

"What?" She asked, suddenly self conscious. She blurted a lie: "I was thirsty."

"I think I'm in love," Sam said under his breath, and Hermione had barely registered what he said before Draco elbowed the American boy to be quiet.

"So, the princess can drink!" Tommy said in amazement, "Where did you learn to drink like that?"

"Just a little place called The Hogs Head," Hermione rolled off, shrugging. She could see Sam sit up a little straighter at that, and she looked at him. He blinked at her. He was probably confused by such a strange name for a pub.

"That was amazin'!" Hamish crowed, interrupting what had ever passed between Sam and her, pounding the table with his fists. He stoop up and declared: "another round! Nicholas, yeh in?"

"I'll pass," he grumbled, glaring at Sam. "And Hermione will, too."

"What?!" The Gryffindor girl cried, sitting up straight and finally looking Draco in the eyes. He stared back evenly.

"You're not the boss of me!" She snapped indignantly, the buzz of the drink already skirting through her limbs and slowing her thoughts.

"Do you really think tonight is the best night to get pissed?" He asked low enough that only the two of them could hear. Hermione couldn't help but bristle at his tone.

"It's as good a night as any," she said.

"Really, with that scar-faced butler following our every move?" He hissed back, grey eyes narrowing. "Aren't you supposed to be the 'Brightest Witch of our Age?'"

"Scared, Malfoy?" She whispered, challenging the Slytherin boy. He glared at her, and she was grateful for this. Anything to distract herself.

"No." He said. "I just want to be prepared."

"You said it yourself, no one could find us down here," she urged, "come on. Loosen up. Drink with me."

He looked at her suspiciously, obviously wondering if she was up to something. She hoped her pleading and open expression would convince him she wasn't. Hermione didn't know why it was suddenly so important that Draco join her, but it was.

"…Okay," he finally relented, and Hermione grinned widely in response.

"Um," Tommy said, standing awkwardly at the end of the table, "sorry to interrupt you two, but did you want more? We're going to get another round."

"Oh! Yes please, Tommy!" Hermione said and Draco nodded his assent, fishing in his pockets for two more coins.

"Does it feel like those two have known each other a while, or is it just me?" Tommy mumbled to Hamish as they pocketed the coins and turned back to head towards the bar, and Hermione suppressed a grin. If only they knew.

. . .

Something was going on with Hermione Granger, Draco realized. She was acting strange…well, stranger than usual. Typically she was uptight to the point that he could swear anyone could put a lump of coal up her arse and two days later they'd have a diamond. That night was different. She had started the night with an uncontainable, buzzing sort of energy. Like a dog left indoors for two days finally going out on a walk.

She had been dancing with a contagious smile on her face one second, and then the next she was returning to their table with a clouded expression on her pale face and tears swimming in her lovely brown eyes. It was such a stark difference Draco couldn't help but stare in surprise. As she sat next to him, he could feel her actively avoiding his gaze. He was itching to ask her what was wrong, but that would give her the impression that he cared, and he definitely didn't want her to catch on.

And then she had switched again, suddenly downing her entire pint of beer in .2 seconds. Then her smile was back, but he could tell that it was forced this time around. In fact, her entire energy had changed. Earlier, it had been carefree and loose, like the wild winds of the ocean. Now it was smiles and laughter for the sake of covering up something else, something darker, bubbling below her facade of joy. It was a frantic energy, and anxiety poured off of her in waves. He wondered if she thought she was being subtle, because she wasn't.

When she had asked him to drink with her, he had found that he couldn't say no to the Gryffindor girl. She was obviously dealing with something and wanted a distraction.

He wondered what had happened out on the dance floor. Had someone hit on her, grazing a hand on her hip or thigh? Or perhaps someone— maybe Horace— had threatened her? The thought of either of those scenarios caused a sharp stab of anger to course through his brain.

He gazed at her through the smoke as she drank her way through her second glass of the night, nursing his own beer at a much more reasonable pace. He kept his cool, reminding himself that Hermione Granger was not the kind of girl to let any man touch her or whisper inappropriate things in her ear. He would certainly have gotten a fist in his face. She also would have let him know immediately if Horace had found them, so he forced himself to relax.

"You're so slow," Hermione chided him, breaking him out of his inner musings. He scowled at her as she waved her empty glass in front of his face. "I'm already done with my second drink."

There was an undeniable slur to her speech, and Draco rolled his eyes. Drunk after two beers? He had figured she'd be a lightweight, but this was something else.

"Yeah," Tommy grinned, face flushed and glistening with a light sheen of sweat, "I'm on my sixth."

"Well I'm almost there, too," Sam said, swishing the dark liquid around in his glass. His already hooded eyes drooped a little lower than normal, and he swayed slightly in his chair.

"Aw, wee lamb," Hamish said and clapped a powerful hand onto Sam's head, who cried out in pain as the Scottish man rubbed his knuckles into his thick, black hair. _"I'm_ nine deep."

"Okay, okay" Sam said and pulled away, rubbing tenderly at his scalp.

"Hamish," Hermione gasped, "you win!"

"That doesn't count!" Tommy scoffed, "the man is 350 pounds! He's half an elephant!"

"That's not nice," Hamish grumbled, "I'm not that fat."

"I don't think you're fat," Hermione reassured him and rested a hand on his shoulder, "I think you're fit, and quite handsome."

The compliment lit the Scottish man's face on fire. If she thought he had looked red before, this was something else.

"You know who else thinks he's handsome?" Tommy said, grinning widely and nudging Sam in the side, who smiled devilishly.

"That cute handmaiden. The blonde one...what was her name?" Sam said, snapping his fingers in thought, "Lily?"

"Lottie." Draco offered and Hamish couldn't help the dreamy expression that took over his sooty face. The Slytherin rolled his eyes. His friend had it bad.

"What!?" Hermione cried in delight, clapping her hands together in amazement, "Lottie? My Lottie?"

"She's the most beautiful girl I've ever seen," Hamish admitted, running his hand through his red hair. Sam and Tommy mimicked his dreamy movement, snickering to themselves.

"They met when you sent her to summon me from the third class decks," Draco leant over to mumble to Hermione. She nodded in understanding.

"Awwww," she cried, "That's wonderful, Hamish. I'll have to find an excuse to give you two some time together."

"Would yeh really do that for me?"

"Absolutely," Hermione nodded. The Scottish man smiled wide and downed the rest of his beer in one gulp before slamming it down on the table.

"That was ten! Yer fallin' behind Nick!"

"There wasn't a competition!" Draco reminded the table before sighing in frustration.

Hermione looked at him in response, pouting. Her lower lip jutted out slightly, presenting itself, almost teasing him. It was pink, plump, and glistened softly under the yellow light bulbs above them. He stared at it for a moment before remembering who he was.

"What?" He asked.

"You're being a party pooper," she grumbled and his eyebrows shot up.

"I'm being a…what?"

"A party pooper! Someone who is ruining the fun for other people by being an arse."

"What, is that some sort of muggle nonsense? That's the daftest thing I've ever heard."

Draco vaguely registered Sam stiffening in the corner of his eye.

"Okay, mostly children use it, but it's the perfect name for you!" Hermione pressed. "You won't even dance with me."

"Aw, boyo!" Tommy cried dramatically, fist slamming onto the table, "you won't even DANCE with her?"

Hamish snatched the glass from Draco's hand, which had been inches away from his mouth. The Slytherin glowered at the bearded man.

"Go dance with Hermione _right now_ ," his traveling companion demanded, holding Draco's beer hostage in one hand and using the other to point a meaty finger at the dance floor.

"No." Draco said, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair. It wasn't that he wasn't a dancer. He most certainly was; he had taken years of classic ballroom courses as per tradition of everyone in the Malfoy family. It just was that he wouldn't dance to _this_ music…he didn't even know _how._ It was too fast, too loud, the melody too sporadic and unpredictable. He listened to the band for a few moments before snorting and shaking his head, he couldn't waltz to this.

"Fine," Hermione huffed before standing up and offering out a hand across the table, "Tommy, will _you_ dance with me?"

"Absolutely, my dear-"

"No," Draco said suddenly, standing up and snatching her hand in his own and pulling her away from the table. She looked like she was going to jerk her hand out of his grasp before she realized he was taking her to the dance floor.

"Aw, come on! Nick!" Tommy cried in disappointment, and Draco shot a glare over his shoulder.

"Shut it, he's the one who saved her life!" Hamish pointed out as they walked away.

"That's true." Draco heard Tommy relent and he couldn't help but smile slightly. He had saved her life, hadn't he?

After they had pushed their way into the sweaty crowd and found a space of their own, they turned to one another. Hermione gazed up at him in a way that could only be described as giddy apprehension. She swayed slightly on her feet.

"You don't get drunk very often, do you, Granger?" He asked, and someone bumped into him, shoving him forward. The space between them was closing. Soon they would be touching, and the thought made his hands sweat. From this close, he could see her individual eyelashes and the subtle dust of freckles across the bridge of her upturned nose. He had never noticed them before. They were cute.

"No," she admitted, blushing slightly. She offered her hands to him in a typical couples dance pose, he hesitated only slightly before stepping forward and taking her hand in his and placing a hand lightly on her waist.

"Ouch," she hissed, flinching away from his open palm. He jerked his hand away and looked at her in alarm.

"Are you alright?" He asked, an alarm bell going off in the back of his head.

She smiled sheepishly. "Sorry, I accidentally ran into... my vanity."

"We don't have to dance," he said immediately backed away. In response she rolled her eyes and reached out to take his hand and place it gently above the bruised spot.

Something fluttered inside his ribcage as she pressed closer into him, resting her hand on his shoulder.

"Only when I'm upset," she said suddenly, gazing up at him, running her fingers along the collar of his white shirt and undone black silk bow-tie. Goosebumps rose along his neck and down his back in response to her feather-light touches. Did she realize how she was touching him? Did she realize how close they were standing?

"What?" He asked dumbly, too distracted to understand the context of her statement.

"I only... Drink when I'm upset…" she said carefully.

"What are you upset about?" He asked, forgetting his resolution to not care. She seemed surprised by his question, and she averted her gaze, stiffening slightly.

"I'll tell you later," she said, voice gravelly. "I can't tell you here."

He didn't press her further, he just nodded and kept up his slight swaying until he felt the sad cloud hanging over her dissipate a bit.

"You know," she said after a moment, grinning wryly up at him, "this isn't how you're supposed to dance to this kind of music."

"Well, Granger. I don't know how to dance to this kind of music," he admitted, shrugging his shoulders, "I didn't have any lessons."

Hermione snorted and shook her head.

"Really, Malfoy? You don't need lessons to dance to music like this. You just feel the rhythm and move."

"I don't know how to do that."

"What are you, a robot?"

"A robot?"

"Oh, right," she looked at him for a moment, pursing her lips in thought.

"…It's like a mechanical invention built by muggles. It's supposed to look and act like a human," she explained, tapping his shoulder distractedly. "It can't feel anything, it just goes through the motions programmed into it."

"Do you have a lot of robots in the muggle world?" He asked, intrigued. She giggled in response, and he wondered why it was such a funny question. He also wondered when her laugh had started sounding like the sweetest bell that had ever graced his ears.

"There are prototypes," she began, and Draco decided not to remind her that he didn't know what prototype meant, "But...no, they don't really exist." She bit her lip to keep from laughing out loud more. He bristled at the look on her face, why would she laugh at him for asking such a simple question?

"Why would you compare me to something that doesn't exist? Why would you non-magical people even pretend robots exist if they _don't?"_ He scoffed.

"They're in films, Malfoy," Hermione explained, rolling her eyes. He stared at her, waiting patiently for her to explain further. She paused for a moment, taking in his expression. "Come on, films? Movies? … Picture shows?"

"I've never had one," he admitted, suddenly and inexplicably self conscious. Why was she looking at him like that?

"You've never _seen_ one," she corrected him, and he resisted the urge to stop dancing, and cross his arms in defiance. How was he supposed to know these things?

"Malfoy! This is Muggle Studies 101! Did you sleep through the course, or something?" She scoffed.

"Or something," he mumbled, suddenly regretting goofing off and paying that Ravenclaw kid to do his work for him.

"Well, when we get back, I'm going to sit you down and watch all the classics with you," she declared, an excited spark in her eyes. Something about that statement made his heart skip a beat.

She suddenly stopped swaying, the clouded expression returning as she gazed over his shoulder at nothing in particular.

"That is, _if_ we get back," she whispered, her voice thick with tears. He saw the moisture gather in the corner of her eyes. With an uncomfortable churn of his stomach, Draco Malfoy realized that he _really_ didn't want to see Hermione Granger cry.

"Hey," he whispered, and she looked at him through a watery gaze. "Let's dance."

Suddenly, and a little bit more clumsily than he would like to admit, he began to spin and step to the rhythm. It took her completely by surprise, and she stumbled a bit.

"Malfoy!" She cried in alarm, righting herself and glancing helplessly down at their feet.

His feet had settled into what he could only describe as a polka step, just about way too quick, and way too bouncy. His dance instructor would have had a heart attack if she could see him now. Eventually, Hermione caught onto the pattern, and met his steps in time with her own.

She looked up at him in triumph, and unbridled look of joy on her face. He smiled down at her as they spun and stepped to the music.

In a bold move, Draco stepped out of their pattern and whirled Hermione out until she spun freely on the ball of her foot. She squealed in delight and he pulled her back in. Then they were even closer than they were before. They stayed that close, their bodies pressed hazardously into one another.

Draco could feel her soft curves pressing against him, and it did maddening things to him. Before he knew it, the song was over, and the crowd was cheering for the band and each other. They slowed to a stop, both of them trying to catch their breath. They gazed openly at one another, both reeling at the obvious and palpable chemistry between the two of them. Neither of them had expected it, but neither of them seemed to be fighting it, either.

"Still think I'm a robot?" He asked over the applause.

"No!" She grinned and threw her arms around him. Even though it was unbearably hot in the mess hall, and even though he was sweating through a borrowed tux, and her own moisture joined his as she pressed into him in a hug, he didn't pull away. He felt her soft cheek press against his and he leaned into her, intoxicated by her smell. It was a sweet smell, but in a subtle way, it wasn't the sickly sweet fruity scent Pansy Parkinson sprayed herself with. It was warmer. Like cinnamon, or vanilla.

His arms floated up to encase her hesitantly, weary of the spot where he assumed her bruise was, of course. He couldn't help but notice - despite how incredibly foreign it was - how happy it made him feel. Back at Hogwarts, he would have never imagined embracing Hermione Granger in a million years. Thanks to the Titanic, something was changing between them. Something massive, like the entire earth had shifted beneath his feet.

North had become south. Left had become right. And Hermione Granger had become someone he cared about.

* * *

 _A/N: Wow. Adult life is so unhelpful with keeping a regular update schedule._

 _I hope you guys liked this chapter, even if it was a bit of a filler. (TBH these kind of chapters are always my favorite.)_

 _Let me know what you think, or where you think this is going!_


	11. Chapter 11

"Let's go get some air," Hermione said, having pulled away from their spontaneous hug after their dance, a little bit warmer and more sweaty than she had gone into it.

Which should have disgusted her, but strangely, it didn't.

She always hated it when Harry and Ron tried to hug her after Quidditch practice, all sweaty and smelly. It had become a game after a few years: them trying to corner her in the common to get a nice big hug in, their hair plastered to their foreheads with dried sweat and big, goofy grins on their face as they said things like, _'aw come on 'Mione, just one.'_ She would laugh and run around, jumping over couches and running up the stairs to the girls dormitories until they tried to follow, of course resulting in them being sabotaged by the transforming stairs.

The thought made her smile softly to herself.

"Do you want me to get our coats? It's fucking freezing on the deck at night," he asked, peering through the crowd to their table in the corner.

And with that sentence, Hermione suddenly remembered where she was, and what she was missing.

Right.

Harry and Ron were back home in her time. Well, she supposed they didn't exist yet, which made her heart ache. They weren't even dead, they just…had yet to have been born. It was a surreal kind of sadness.

Watching the Slytherin turn away in the corner of her eye, she suddenly remembered something.

"Wait, I don't have a jacket!" She called out to him, but he was already retreating back to the corner with their friends. She huffed a sigh and shrugged, she supposed it wouldn't be too bad to get some cold air on her skin. It'd be refreshing. Plus, the alcohol from the beer still pumped through her, making her brain a little too fuzzy, and he face a little too warm. Surely the cold would sober her up a bit.

When he had retrieved the coat to his tuxedo, Draco looked up the stairs wearily.

"Do you think it will be safe?" He asked, slinging the garment over his shoulder in the most alluring way. With his disheveled hair, loose tie, perfectly fitted pants and suspenders- paired with the natural highlight on his cheekbones from the thin sheen of sweat, he looked like he could grace the cover of one of her mother's magazines. Merlin, even his fading black eye had a sort of high-fashion allure to it.

"I-I don't know," she said, shaking herself and dragging her gaze away, "I think so. It's around two in the morning now, right? They wouldn't still be looking for me." She realized then that she would be in for a world of trouble whenever she saw Annabelle's mother again. She cringed inwardly.

"I guess we'll see," he said and jerked his head in the direction of the third class decks. She followed him up, remembering suddenly that she had abandoned her shoes in a random hamper in the first class corridor. She would certainly be regretting that soon.

As she suspected, the second they stepped out of the door, her sweat seemed to freeze to her body. And the cold was nice at first, but as they neared the edge of the guard rail, she started to tremble. She didn't want to, but she had no shoes on, just the sheer fabric of her tights to act as a barrier between her skin and the freezing wooden deck below. Her breath puffed out in little sporadic clouds as she peered down the side of the hull.

She was about to comment about how fast they were traveling when she felt something inexplicably warm and nice smelling settle over her shoulders, almost immediately quelling her frantic shivers. She looked up in surprise to find Draco adjusting his coat to cover the back of her neck and her arms.

It was not the nicest thing he had done for her - he had saved her life, for Merlin's sake - but this single act of kindness seemed to take her breath away more than anything else. She gazed at him as he smoothed out the wrinkles and looked at her with soft, silver eyes.

"Is that better?" He asked softly, and she nodded mutely.

 _Who was he?_ Who was this Draco Malfoy? Despite knowing him for years she had never seen this side of him before.

Quieting the ceaseless questions inside her, she made a move that surprised even herself: she leant back into him until her head was beneath his chin and her back was pressed against his front. He didn't stop her, and she made no move to pull away. He was warm, and strong, and he smelled nice.

She wanted to be closer to him, and it was a shockingly intense desire. Almost magnetic. Was it because she was so lonely for a touch from someone familiar on this massive, doomed vessel? Or did this run deeper?

She knew the truth. Hermione had never felt this way for anyone, not Krum, and not even Ron.

Did he realize how gentle he had been with her tonight? How close he had held her when they danced? How close they were now?

"Look at the stars," he whispered, breaking up her inner monologue, and she craned her neck until she was gazing upwards. What she saw was indescribable: she had never seen so many stars in her life, even from the top of the astronomy tower at Hogwarts. Each point of light burst through the darkness as if they were straining to reach the inky black water below. They consumed the entire sky, as far as the eye could see.

"How had I not noticed these before?" She whispered, suddenly forgetting her frozen feet and the cold seeping in from the thin material of the borrowed coat.

"Maybe because you were too busy trying to drown yourself," he said wryly, and Hermione frowned.

"Are you ever going to let me forget that?"

"Sorry, I won't," he said humorously. "It was just so bloody stupid."

"Yeah, you're right…I'm glad I didn't," she whispered after a moment - she knew she had said it before, but it felt right to say it again. She took a moment to look down at the churning ocean below. She shuddered, and in response, Draco brought his arms around her and hugged her from behind. Her heart jumped in her chest.

"I'm glad, too," he murmured back, his lips practically tickling her ear. She shivered again, but not from the fear of a sudden drop into icy waters, but from something different. Something that warmed her core and made her feel electric in places she had rarely experienced.

She was warm, she realized suddenly. _Too_ warm. She had to break away. As gently as she could, she maneuvered out of his arms until she was facing him with about a foot of space safely between them. He looked down at her expectantly, and she realized it looked like she had something to say.

"Give me your thumb," she blurted and his eyebrows raised. This probably wasn't what he was expecting.

He humored her and gave her his outstretched hand, thumb pointed skywards. She took his wrist in her hand and guided it upwards until it was outlined against the milky way.

"What is this, Hermione?" He asked, using her first name for the first time (ever, she realized), which caused her heart to skip, "some sort of weird muggle party trick?"

"Hush," she said, her face warm from the magical way his lips had formed the syllables that made up her name, "in the space of your thumb right now, there are around 80 billion stars right behind it."

"You're barmy," he said, bringing his thumb up and down to compare the before and after, "there are only three."

"That you can see, Draco," she said, trying out his first name as well. She discovered that it tasted good on her tongue, "that's the magic of astronomy. There are stars millions and billions of miles away that are invisible to the naked eye."

"That sounds fake," he grumbled, dropping his thumb down to his side, "how can you know that?"

"It's science," Hermione said, grinning, thinking back to the museum of science that she had visited dozens of times over the years, "muggle scientists have these things called telescopes and satellites that can take pictures of stars and planets and moons thousands of miles away."

Draco gazed up at the sky, face twisted up in thought. Hermione watched him patiently. She figured it was a lot to take in for someone like him.

"There's more than one moon?" He asked, and Hermione clamped down on the urge to jump up and down in delight. He was listening to her! And absorbing the information she was handing him! In all her years of receiving nothing but scoffs and eye-rolls from Malfoy when defending muggle accomplishments, she never could have dreamed this would happen.

"Yes, well not more than one for Earth, but other planets," she explained giddily, "but muggles have been to ours. They landed on it in the 60's."

"What?" He scoffed, shaking his head, "there's no way muggles could have gone to the moon. It isn't even possible."

"It is," Hermione said, nodding. "It was the Americans."

Draco snorted.

"It's true," she stressed, "there's an American flag standing there still today!" As if to prove her point, she pointed up at the moon, the jacket falling off her arms and exposing her skin to the icy air.

"Well..." she paused, catching herself, "not today. It's 1912."

She was waiting for his sarcastic rebuttal, but it seemed as though he had stopped listening. He had fallen silent as his fingers travelled up the length of her arm that was still stretched upwards. Goosebumps raised on her skin, but it had nothing to do with the cold. What was he doing?

He gently took her wrist in his and brought it down for his inspection. When she looked closer she saw him softly tracing the speckled bruises on her forearm. This touch was different than the other touches; his fingers were softer than they had ever been, and it felt as though they traveled down her skin with an apologetic grace. She blushed and pulled her arm away. She didn't know why, but she wished he hadn't seen them.

"Are those from me?" He asked, and the question lingered between the two of them, stretching out until they both felt the massive change that their relationship had undergone. The barely-faded bruises were proof of that. The morning that he had gripped her by the wrists and whispered threatening things to her felt like a hundred years ago, but in reality, it had been the previous morning.

Hermione averted her gaze.

"Only some of them," she murmured back.

He was quiet for a moment, staring at the speckled, purple skin.

"I'm sorry," he said, "I didn't mean to hurt you like that…I just wanted to scare you."

"It's okay," she whispered, looking up at him, gazing at the purple and blue dusting around his eye. "I'm not the only one with bruises."

She brought a hand to trace the surface of the discolored skin. He closed his eyes and leant into her touch, and her breath caught in her throat. She let her fingers - who seemed to have a mind of their own - wander past his bruise and onto the soft, unmarred skin of his cheek. His eyes cracked open in surprise, and Hermione could have cried with how beautiful he looked in that moment: his skin seemed only more flawless and porcelain in the soft light of the moon, his silver eyes bearing into hers, while steam escaped his slightly parted lips.

He looked as though he was born to be there: between the deep blue ocean and star speckled sky, bathed in moonlight beneath her touch.

How had she not seen him this way at Hogwarts? Had he always been so handsome? He had always seemed distinctly weasel-like, but she was beginning to suspect that it had just been the displeased mask he always seemed to dawn.

It scared her that someone so alluring to her in this moment could have been someone she had hated openly and without second thought for so many years. What was going on between them? Was it the pensieve? Were they under some sort of spell?

Or was it simply that they were two young people under the influence of alcohol?

Before she could understand what was happening, he was leaning down, closing the distance between the two of them.

Draco Malfoy's lips pressed softly, curiously, into Hermione Granger's. The butterflies that had been batting about wildly in her chest melted into a golden warmth that seeped from her heart all the way down to her toes. She softened beneath him, and he brought his arms around her until they were in an embrace that seemed to be the only thing keeping her anchored to the deck. She was certain that if he let her go, she would float away into the stars.

She couldn't help but sigh into his mouth as he deepened the kiss. No matter how hard she would have tried to deny it, she had wanted this. And it was finally happening, and it would have been a perfect moment, too, if it weren't for the alarm bells going off in the back of her head.

As quickly as it had come, the delicious golden warmth left her body, leaving her painfully aware of just how cold it was outside. And at that realization, she felt stupid: of course it was cold! They were in the middle of the freezing Atlantic Ocean! No matter how ideal this scenario would seem from the outside, this wasn't _really_ the Ship of Dreams. They hadn't been dropped onto this ship to fall for one another and have the trip of a lifetime as they kissed under the stars. They had been violently plucked from their time and dropped onto the most famously doomed ship in the world.

Everyone dancing and singing below their feet would soon be dead unless she saved them, and this most certainly was a dangerous distraction.

She pushed against his chest and pulled her head away.

"Draco," she said breathlessly, trying to collect her thoughts. "Stop."

"Why?" He asked, gazing down at her, a flash of hurt shining in his eyes, "don't you want this?"

"No - yes. Yes, I do, and I don't know why I do, or how we got here," she said, stumbling through the complicated truth, "but we can't. We don't have time."

"What do you mean? We have all the time in the world."

"No, we don't," She said, pulling away out of his grasp completely. "I should have told you sooner. I'm sorry."

"What?"

"I don't know how to tell you," she whispered.

"Fucking hell! Tell me what, Granger?"

 _So I'm back to Granger_ , she realized sadly. She drew the coat tighter around herself, shivering. She looked up at Draco, who waited expectantly before her, an annoyed edge in his gaze.

She took a deep breath. She had rehearsed this over and over again in her head. She just had to form the words and voice them…so why was it so hard? She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

"Come on," he barked, "just tell me!"

She jumped at his harsh tone, knowing that she couldn't put it off any longer.

"On the 14th of April, 1912...the RMS Titanic hit an iceberg four days into its maiden voyage," she began, trying to keep the panicked tears pricking at her eyes from spilling over. Draco seemed to be watching her mouth, as if to decode what he was hearing. She wasn't speaking in tongues, her photographic memory and knack for memorizing facts had assured that all of the information she was relaying to the Slytherin was accurate, "No one answered her distress signal. There were around two thousand people onboard, and only 700 people made it onto the lifeboats."

Speaking it out loud felt so wrong, like the words themselves would curse the disaster into existence, and she couldn't help the tears that slipped from her eyes and down her cheeks. She thought of the little girl she had seen dancing with her father below. After a deep breath, she continued, "The ship went down at 2 AM, with 1,517 people going into the ocean."

Draco stared at her, an unreadable expression on his face.

"Almost all of them died," she finished, knowing that she didn't have to say it, but felt that she owed it to everyone on board to say it aloud. It only hardened her resolve to rescue as many as she could, if not avoid the disaster completely.

When he didn't say anything, she kept talking, "It's famous in the muggle world. I-I thought in the wizarding world, too. When I realized what ship it was, I tried to escape."

"Without me?" He asked, seeming to suddenly come back into himself. She winced,

realizing that she was only digging herself a deeper grave. Why did she even tell him that?

"You would have left without me?"

"I didn't know where you were," she whispered through her tears. "I thought you had both of our Wands and knew about the sinking, too."

"Why the fuck would I know about some random muggle boat disaster from the 20th century?" He said, fists clenching. "You would have left me to die?!"

"I wasn't thinking," she said, "and we had already left port. I'm sorry."

"You're sorry?! Are you sorry that you waited until now to tell me?"

"Yes, I already told you I was-"

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?"  
"There was never a good time."

"That's a shite excuse and you know it! You should have told me that first afternoon," he snapped, turning away from her and crossing to the guardrails. "This whole time I've been sailing on a fucking ghost ship, Granger. With fucking _dead_ people."

"I know. I know! I have too," she said, desperately wishing he would understand. She had been shouldering this secret on her own for days. It had worn on her more than she would let on.

"No you don't! They're my friends!" He shouted, whirling to face her.

"They're my friends too, Malfoy!" She snapped back, wiping at her freezing tears with the back of her trembling hand, "There are people that I don't want to see die either."

 _Lottie. Molly._

"Oh, what, in fucking first class?" He spat, reminding her starkly of the Draco Malfoy she

had known all of those years at Hogwarts. "I'm sorry, who do they let on the lifeboats first in this history lesson?"

She held his angry gaze for several moments before saying, "you already know, Draco."

He laughed bitterly, "and what about my friends?" He pointed to the decks below.

She swallowed hard. "I remember reading that they let the third class women and children onto boats if they made it to the decks."

"And third class men? Did any survive?"

She knew the answer. She knew that close to none did. But she couldn't voice it. She couldn't tell him that Hamish, Sam, Tommy, and probably even most of the people they had been dancing with had died a terrible, senseless death in their timeline.

"I don't remember," she whispered.

"Bloody liar," he snapped.

"I'm sorry…" she was trembling beneath his jacket. "Last night, when you saved me from jumping overboard, I said that this ship was doomed and you said something about how it wouldn't be so bad to go to America, and that's when I realized you didn't know. That's why I came back onto the ship. I didn't want to leave you alone."

Draco was quiet for a moment, looking over the hull of the vessel. He leant until his elbows were resting against it.

"Now it makes sense," he said darkly, "jumping makes sense."

"No, it doesn't," she shook her head vehemently, stepping forward and placing a hand on his shoulder. He moved away from her touch, and she pulled back with a stab of pain in her heart. She wanted to cry, but she pushed forward, "can't you see, Draco? We can make a difference. We can save everyone."

"How?" He deadpanned, not looking up at her. "We're only two people. A street rat and a woman. Which, friendly reminder, is useless in this world."

Hermione sighed, actively choosing not to start a fight. She continued, "A street rat and a woman who know what's going to happen. That's infinitely valuable."

"How?"

"Please, Draco, we can work together-"

"Annabelle!" A panicked whisper came from behind them, Hermione whirled around to find Lottie, pale as a ghost in her nightgown, a blanket wrapped around her. Her blonde curls were splayed wildly about, not having been pinned in typical neat fashion.

"Lottie?" She said, rushing to her friend.

"Where have you been?!" The maid cried.

"I'm sorry, I've been busy," she murmured, looking over her shoulder to Draco, who wasn't even looking at them. His entranced gaze seemed to be fixed on the ocean below.

"Well, you have to come back now," she said, tugging at Hermione's wrist, "you two were being really loud. I could hear you from your room."

"Why were you in my room?" Hermione asked, confused. She didn't have a watch on her, but it was easily 3 AM.

"I was under your covers, pretending to be you," Lottie admitted, and a wave of guilt coursed through Hermione. "When I realized you weren't coming back from dinner, I climbed into your bed when I heard Horace come in. He was really mad, Anna. He was shouting at me. Did you really run away from him _again?"_

It was then that Hermione saw the dark circles under the young maid's eyes. The blonde girl had covered for her, she realized. It turns out, Annabelle wouldn't be in a world of trouble tomorrow because of the girl before her. Overwhelmed with gratitude and guilt, Hermione enveloped Lottie in a hug.

"Thank you. Thank you so much, Lottie," she said, feeling absolutely rotten. "I'm sorry. I didn't think this through."

"You two have to be more careful, when I looked out the window, I could even see the both of you," she whispered fearfully. "Your mother could have seen you…Horace could have seen you."

"What? Where is the room?" Hermione asked, looking wearily towards the ship. It had never even occurred to her that the first class accomodations had a view that would include the third class decks.

"It's there," Annabelle said, pointing toward the top part of the ship.

It was then that she saw Draco straighten up and start walking away from them. Hermione whirled around.

"Where are you going?" She asked, sounding more desperate than she had intended.

"Away from you," was all he said, and she had to actively stop herself from gasping out loud. Was he really saying this after all they had shared that night?

"Draco," she pleaded, not caring if Lottie noticed the name change, "please don't leave me alone in this."

"Why? You were going to leave _me_ alone."

"I swear, you're the reason I'm still onboard! I couldn't jump and leave you alone in this mess…and I told you the truth now, didn't I?"

"I wish you hadn't," he said, not looking at her.

"Well, now you're just being ridiculous," she snapped at him, anger coursing through her. What did he want from her? Did he want the truth or not!?

Without another word, Draco crossed the rest of the space and disappeared behind the iron door leading into the third class quarters.

Hermione watched him go, feeling colder than she ever had, and not due to the freezing temperature. She stared at the door long after he had gone through it, a multitude of emotions rolling around in her head. How had that gone so bad so quickly? They had connected in a way that Hermione had never connected with anyone before…and he could just walk away from it? Her heart thudded painfully inside her chest and she wondered distantly if this is what heartbreak felt like.

She stood in stunned silence for several moments before Lottie took Hermione's frozen hand in her own and spoke softly.

"We have to get back, and get you to bed."

Hermione nodded mutely and allowed herself to be directed back into the first class portion of the ship.

* * *

 _ **A/N**_ _: I was going to apologize for another late update, but I've realized that this is honestly just adulthood. Updating every week / 2 weeks was a luxury I could afford when I was in school. These days my life is just too full to update as frequently as I'd like… I update when I can, and that's just the culture! (Also, the chapters from here on out are going to be much longer than previous chapters, so hopefully u can take some solace in that.)_

 _Nonetheless,_ _ **I would really love to hear any feedback you may have.**_ _This is probably my favorite story I've ever written so far, and I wish I had more of an audience for it. Feels like I squandered away my audience on a garbage Naruto AU fic. RIP._

 _ **If you like this story, please review!**_

 _I literally LIVE for reviews._


	12. Chapter 12

CH 12 4,956

Draco Malfoy sucked in deep gulps of air as he made his way back down to steerage. No matter how desperately his lungs worked, he still felt like he couldn't fucking breathe. He stumbled clumsily down the corridor, the floor spinning beneath his feet and the walls caving in on him.

This ship was going to sink. The Titanic was going to sink. It had before, and it would again. All of his friends would be dead in just two days time. The image of Hamish, Tommy and Sam bobbing lifelessly in the freezing Atlantic Ocean flashed through his whirling mind.

Draco stopped and squeezed his eyes shut, running his fingers through his hair, attempting to clear the scene away.

What in Salazar had he been dropped into? He thought he had been fucked before, but this was something else.

He thought of Hermione. She had known all along. How could she have kept it from him that whole time, only to ruin the night with such devastating news? She had seduced and bewitched him until he had felt something for her, and then she had turned around to reveal herself as nothing more than a liar.

Perhaps she hadn't lied, per say, but she had definitely omitted the truth from him. He thought of all of the opportunities she could have told him: on their first day, that night on the bow of the ship, their hidden interaction in the first class gymnasium, before dinner, after dinner, before their kiss.

Their kiss…he thought of the way she had melted into his arms, soft lips pressing into his in the most heavenly way-

No. He shook himself. Someone who would keep such an important thing from him and someone who had considered escaping the ship without him obviously didn't care for him. He wouldn't fall for her lies again.

She thought he was a Death Eater. She let him believe they'd actually make it to the USA. She had allowed him to grow close with corpses.

When he finally found himself back in his room, he pulled off the rest of the borrowed tuxedo and threw it carelessly on the floor before flinging himself into his bed.

The racket must've startled Hamish awake, because an alarmed: _"Nick?"_ traveled up from the bottom bunk.

He ignored him and squeezed his eyes shut, praying to Merlin or Salazar or whoever that he would wake up tomorrow morning in his bed back at Hogwarts with Flint banging on his door to wake him for their early morning Quidditch practice. He didn't want to be on this ship. He didn't want to face where he was and what was destined to happen.

But above all, he didn't want to face what he had done with Granger that night or the way his feelings had changed. His stomach rolled violently and he resisted the urge to vomit. Who was Draco Malfoy becoming?

. . .

Hermione hadn't slept a wink that night, she had simply buried herself under her covers, replaying their fight over and over again in her head. Could there have been a better way to tell him the truth? He had claimed that she could have done it before that night, but she genuinely hadn't seen an opportunity. Each time she had begun to explain the situation he would pick a fight with her or change the subject…and by the time things had gotten out of hand with their... kiss… she had realized her mistake.

She wondered what he was thinking. Did he regret kissing her? Her heart thumped painfully inside of her chest. Of course he did.

"Annabelle. Why are you still in bed?" Martha's voice hissed from the doorway. "Get up. You missed breakfast."

The young witch sat up slowly, head throbbing painfully as she looked towards her mother. She wondered distantly if she had a hangover or if the headache was simply from lack of sleep and an abundance of stress.

"Good morning," she greeted dryly.

"Don't 'good morning' me," the woman snapped, "what do you think you're doing? Lottie was supposed to fetch you."

"I suppose it's called getting my beauty sleep," Hermione said and stretched, omitting the fact that she had done no sleeping at all. Lottie had attempted to drag her out of bed around seven AM that morning to meet her mother for breakfast, but Hermione couldn't bring herself to get ready for the day.

"A lot of good it did you. You look absolutely dreadful," Martha said, crossing to the cabin's wardrobe and throwing it open. She plucked an emerald green day dress from the rack and threw it on the bed. "Get dressed. Mr. Andrews was asking about your tea time. I told him you'd be ready by eleven."

That woke Hermione up. She blinked at Annabelle's mother, remembering the hastily extended invite to sit down with the Ship's Architect. It was a good thing she had reminded her, otherwise she just might have forgotten after the chaos of last night.

"Thank you," she murmured, throwing off her covers and moving to stand. Her ribs ached painfully and she rubbed at them. Martha's hawk-like eyes registered the movement and wasted no time to throw a cruel remark her way.

"Serves you right."

Hermione said nothing, not willing to play into the older woman's cruel games. She picked up the beautiful chiffon dress and admired it's handiwork.

"He'll be here in an hour," Martha informed her, "I thought it would be best that you aren't seen talking with him in public. I don't understand why you'd want to sit down with him in the first place, but I don't want anyone getting the wrong idea."

"Thank you," she said again, just waiting for her to leave at that point. She could feel the woman's glare on her as ran her fingers across the material of the garment.

"I don't know what's going on with you," she snapped, "but you better have it all sorted by the time we meet Winston."

Hermione brought her gaze up to the woman and said: "I promise I will be all that you want and more by the time we dock in New York."

That seemed to take her by surprise, and she stood in the doorway for several moments before finally nodding firmly.

"Good," she said and turned on her heel, off to whatever social function was next. Hermione was just thankful she wasn't being dragged along this time.

For a sad moment, Hermione allowed herself to think of her own mother. She could only be described as the complete opposite of Martha. Where Martha was cruel and uncaring, her mother was kind and loving. Where Martha thought only of status and rising to the top of the social ladder, her mother only cared for Hermione's well being.

Her mum was back in her time, Hermione thought, and most likely worried sick. Surely her parents must have been alerted of her disappearance by then... The thought made her heart ache.

She must have been worried sick. Both of her parents must have been. The painful thought twisted her stomach and caused a hard lump to form in her throat.

She could imagine her mother pacing back and forth in front of their fireplace, anxious to hear any sort of news about the whereabouts of her daughter. She would be wringing her hands in anxiety, too distressed to even make a meal or tend to her garden. She could see her father stopping her ceaseless back and forth with a comforting embrace, whispering words of reassurance in his wife's ear.

With a heavy heart and a hardened resolve, she made a silent promise to get back to her time so she could give her real mother a hug and never let her go again.

. . .

"Ack," Tommy cringed after taking a sip of his black coffee, "it's cold. How is your's hot?"

"You waited too long," Sam said, blowing the steam rising from his own cup.

"What the shite are you talking about? We were served at the same time."

"Maybe you don't deserve hot coffee."

"Maybe you deserve a foot up your arse."

Draco sunk lower into the table in response to their bickering. His head was pounding.

"Lord, what's wrong with him?" Tommy asked, peering over his cup at the young wizard.

"I already checked him for a pulse," Sam informed him, "he's alive."

"Barely," Hamish said from a mouthful of porridge, "but I'm not surprised. He rolled in at 3 AM last night."

Draco ignored them, head in his hands. He hadn't slept that night. How could he have?

"3 AM?" Sam asked and nudged Draco with his elbow, "you were with Hermione then, weren't you?"

"Lucky bastard," Tommy said, placing his coffee on the wooden table with an aggressive thump, "if I'd have had an hour alone with that girl-"

"Shut the fuck up," Draco snapped, looking up at the Irish man. "Seriously."

The table silenced at his outburst. They all gazed at him in surprise.

"Jesus Christ," Tommy laughed after a few moments, "relax, mate. I'm just taking the piss out of you."

"Did things turn sour with her then?" Sam asked, a puzzled expression taking over his face. "You guys seemed to be really getting along."

"Aye, they couldn't keep their hands off of eachother on the dance floor," Hamish grinned mischievously.

"None of that matters now," Draco said. "She lied to me."

"About what?" Tommy asked.

Draco wanted to say: _"She pretended to care about me, but neglected to mention the important fact that we'll all be dead in two days time."_

He wasn't ready to dig that grave yet, so he just said, "She's engaged."

Sam and Hamish winced, but Tommy shrugged nonchalantly.

"So what? That isn't married," he rolled off, "there's nothing wrong with taking a turn up her petticoats."

The image of him and Hermione shagging on his bunk flashed through his skull, but he quickly banished it to the recesses of his mind. He sat back in his chair, running his hands over his face in frustration and disgust. How had she infected him so thoroughly in just a night?

She's a disease, he rationalized to himself. It was the only explanation as to why she had been the only thing he could think of since the fateful night he had pulled her back on board. Why she had invaded all of his senses whenever she had been near him: he could only see the way her eyes lit up when they sat at the table shoved in that forgotten corner. He could hear only the delightful tinkle of her voice as she giggled when he spun her round and round. He could smell only the natural scent of her skin, sweet and warm as she pressed her back into his front as they gazed at the stars. He could only taste her lips as his tongue had slipped past-

He didn't let himself finish his distressing thought.

"Drop it," Draco barked, "I'm not seeing her again."

. . .

By the time Hermione was dressed, hair pinned, and light makeup was applied, she still had fifteen minutes to wait for the ship's architect. Lottie gazed at her through the mirror of her vanity. She stifled a yawn, looking as tired as Hermione felt.

"Think we can skip lunch and take a quick doze?" Hermione asked humorously, turning around.

"I don't think that's such a good idea-"

"Don't worry. I was joking," Hermione soothed, guilt seeping into her heart once more as she observed the panic in her eyes and the dark circles beneath them.

"I don't think we should be joking about anything like that," she whispered.

"Lottie, it's alright. No one is listening," she said and stood from her vanity, walking over to the maid's place by the foot of her bed. The maid looked at her expectantly and Hermione took the girl's hands in her own. "Thank you for what you did last night."

"You're welcome," she said, smiling tightly. "Are you going to try to see him again?"

Hermione thought about it for a moment. Did she want to seek him out? Should she wait for him to come to her?

"No," she said, a hard lump settling in the pit of her stomach, "I don't think he'd want to see me."

"What were you fighting about? I thought you liked him," Lottie asked, eyes searching her face.

"I told him something that he didn't want to hear," she whispered.

"About Winston?"

"Something like that."

"I'm sorry...you must really like him."

"It doesn't matter now," she said, trying her best to shake off the feeling of regret. Why did she care so deeply? Why did his rejection of her sting so much?

"Anna-"

"I have a task for you," Hermione said quickly, wanting to change the subject. "I need you to fetch Molly's suit back from Draco."

Lottie stared at her. Hermione blinked after realizing what name she had let slip. Merlin, it must have been the lack of sleep.

"Nicholas. I meant Nicholas," she backtracked, but the damage had been done.

"Why do you keep calling him Draco?" She asked suspiciously.

"It's a nickname," Hermione dismissed, hoping she wouldn't dig any deeper. People in this era had nicknames too, didn't they? It couldn't have been that much of a stretch.

"Okay," Lottie said, eyeing Hermione warily, "I'll go pick it up."

"If you can't find Nicholas, you might be able to find his large friend, and he can help you," she paused, something occuring to her, "When you get there, take lunch off and spend some time for yourself."

"A-are you sure, miss?"

"I'm positive. You deserve a rest... Oh!" She straightened up and snapped her fingers, looking around her room, "don't forget the jacket!"

The young witch scanned the floor of her cabin, not there. She looked around. Not on her desk. Not on the bed. Where had it gone? Had she misplaced it?

She crossed the room to the door leading out into their shared living space. She might have accidentally dropped it on her way in last night. It wasn't out of the question, she had been quite distraught…

When she opened the door, she immediately regretted her decision: Horace was sitting in the armchair nearest to her, Draco's jacket dangling off of one of his fingers and a stoney expression upon his face. Hermione froze.

"Looking for this?" He asked, dragging his gaze from the garment up to Hermione's eyes.

. . .

"Another beautiful day," Hamish sighed, craning back his neck until his face was bathed in sunlight.

"It's a good sign!" Sam said from his place on the guardrail next to Draco, who was hunched over, glaring down at the ocean. "We've got fortune on our side."

"Aye," Tommy nodded in agreement, squinting up at the Native American from his spot on the sturdy oak bench. "I bet we'll make it to New York a day early."

Draco's stomach churned uncomfortably, and he edged away from Sam. He was trying to distance himself from the three young men. Literally and figuratively. He could barely even look at them.

"I think I'm going to go back," Draco announced suddenly, and straightened up, eyes still locked on the incredibly blue ocean before him. For the first time since he had boarded, the vastness of it unnerved him. Not another ship in sight. No land for days. Just them alone on a doomed, 52,300 ton ship. Another nauseating fact he had picked up from Granger on that pointless walk with that Molly woman.

"I feel sick," he explained.

"Was it something you ate?" Sam asked.

"Maybe it was something the wee lamb drank," Hamish teased, nudging Sam, who was seated on the bench next to him. "Oh, nevermind. He only had one beer."

"Blimey, didn't know you were such a lightweight." Tommy rolled off.

"I don't know," Draco murmured, finally turning towards them. "I just need to lie down."

When they realized that he was being serious, the three men looked at him with pitiful eyes. He wanted to curse at them again. If they knew their destiny they wouldn't be looking at him with pity. They would be clamoring to find a way off of the ship.

At that thought, something inside of him flipped like a switch. _A way off the ship_...why on earth should they sit there waiting around for the ship to drag them down to their watery grave? They could just find a way out beforehand!

With a fire beneath his feet, Draco left his friends sitting at the bow of the ship.

. . .

"Well? Who's is this?" Horace asked, raspy voice sending a shiver through Hermione's body. She could sense Lottie frozen in fear behind her as well.

"I- I'm not sure," Hermione whispered, knowing that she was on the cusp of an interaction with the older man that could go very, very wrong.

Horace sighed tiredly, and clasped the jacket in his fist before standing from the armchair.

"Come here, girl," he said, black eyes bearing into Hermione's. She swallowed hard, reminding herself that Gryffindors did not cower in fear. They stood proudly and stared steadily back in the face of adversity.

Mustering up as much courage and strength as she could, she crossed the space between them. When she was about a foot away, he pulled up his arm and she resisted the urge to flinch away.

"Look closer," he ordered, holding out the garment for her inspection, "I think you'll recognize it."

Hermione dragged her gaze from his face down to the jacket. She already knew that it was Draco's, but she pretended to study it for a moment.

"I'm sorry… I don't know who's it is," she said again, hoping her voice came out calm, because she was trembling on the inside. This looked bad. Really bad. As if Draco had come home with her last night…Hermione looked away, the implication of this forgotten jacket weighing heavily on her shoulders. It looked as though he may have snuck into her cabin in the middle of the night to…

She couldn't finish the thought, her traitorous face blushing at the scandalous idea.

"Do you take me for some kind of fool?" he snapped, his voice raising, "look closer!"

When she didn't look, he took her jaw roughly in his hand and turned her head forcefully towards the jacket. She sucked in a panicked breath, fighting the urge to launch herself away from the man and flee. That would only make matters worse.

"I don't know!" She insisted. The damage the truth would do would be worse than the repercussions for a lie…she knew it for a fact.

"Liar!" He roared.

"I know!" Lottie cried, stepping forward from her spot in the doorway to Hermione's room. "I know whose it is!"

Horace looked in annoyance to the maid, who made her way over to where they were standing, her petite hands balled into fists. When she looked at him, her freckled face was scrunched up in determination. Hermione stared at her, what was she doing? Was she going to tell on her?

"It's Jeffrey's," she lied, voice trembling only slightly, and Hermione felt foolish for ever think Lottie would betray her.

"Who in the bloody hell is Jeffrey?" He asked impatiently, still holding onto Hermione's face, who was busy looking at Lottie in surprise.

"He's a butler… for the A-Applewood family," she lied smoothly, "Yesterday he saw me struggling with a big basket of China I had washed…and he helped me."

Horace glared at the young girl, obviously trying to sense any sort of deceit in her eyes.

"Why would he leave his jacket?" He asked. Hermione's face was beginning to grow numb from his powerful hold on her.

"H-he must have forgotten it, since he stayed for a little while," she whispered, "I wanted to thank him for helping me with a spot of tea… I hope that's alright."

A knock came at the door, and Horace immediately flinched, releasing Hermione. She stumbled back and crumpled into the armchair he had just been sitting in. It had all happened so fast it took her a moment to realize she was no longer in his crushing grasp. Once she felt the warmth return to her limbs, she rubbed at her face, shock coursing through her. Lottie rushed to her side, kneeling and inspecting her for any signs of damage.

"Are you okay?" She whispered.

Hermione nodded, unable to speak. She would never get used to being handled so violently.

"Who is that?" Horace asked, looking at the two girls. "At the door?"

Hermione noticed that he looked…nervous? That made her pause; perhaps the man servant was not infallible. He must have been afraid of being caught handling a young girl roughly.

"Mr. Andrews," Lottie informed him harshly, "he and Annabelle have a scheduled tea time, and you've gone and soiled her makeup."

"Then go get her cleaned up," he snapped, "I will see Mr. Andrews in."

He threw the jacket at Lottie. It landed against her side and slid loosely to the floor.

"And return that jacket."

"Yes, sir," Lottie said, sounding characteristically meek…yet, when she looked at Hermione, there was an undeniable sparkle of triumph in her eyes. He had believed her! She had lied and it had worked!

They didn't have time to celebrate, as they only had precious seconds before Thomas Andrews would be ushered into the sitting room. They quickly gathered themselves along with the discarded jacket, and stood. Lottie took her by the arm and gently lead her into the room.

Once they were safely inside, the door clicking shut quietly behind them, Hermione pulled Lottie into a shaky hug. She could feel the young girl's heart beating wildly in tandem with her own. That could have gone very, very differently.

"Thank you," she whispered, face still throbbing in pain.

"It's alright," Lottie said, obviously quite surprised at the show of physical affection. She rubbed reassuringly at Hermione's back.

When Hermione pulled away, she saw that the young maid's blue eyes were pooling with unshed tears.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes, sorry. It was just scary," Lottie responded, rubbing at her eyes. "I'm okay."

"You're quite brave," she breathed, appraising the girl with a new sort of admiration. Surely she would have been placed into Gryffindor had she attended Hogwarts. "You keep coming to my rescue."

"I wish you would stop needing to be rescued," she grumbled back, straightening up and folding the borrowed jacket. "Something about this trip has changed you, Miss…you never get in this much trouble."

Hermione was silent for a moment, aching to tell her the truth. She quickly clamped down on that desire.

 _No,_ she reminded herself. _It wouldn't do anyone any good. It would just frighten her._

"I'll return this later. Now, let's get your makeup tidied up."

"It's alright," Hermione said hastily, "I can fix it myself. You take lunch off."

"No," Lottie retorted, "I won't leave you alone with him."

"I'll be fine. Mr. Andrews is here and will be for a while."

Lottie didn't move, just held onto the door handle, looking particularly troubled. In truth, Hermione didn't blame her. She would also have been stubbornly by her side if it had been the Gryffindor in her position.

"Go," Hermione said, "and stay there for lunch. That's an order."

After a drawn out moment of hesitation, Lottie left the room. She must have been quite frightened of facing Horace again, but she walked out with her head held high. Once the door was shut, Hermione pressed her ear against it.

She heard Lotties' faint greeting, "Good morning, Mr. Andrews."

"Good morning," a male voice returned. Despite it being muffled by the oak wood of the door, Hermione could tell that it was pleasant and warm. "Will Miss Paige be joining us soon?"

"Oh, yes-" Lottie's muffled voice began, but was quickly cut off.

"Annabelle is powdering her nose," a lower, more gravelly voice came. Horace's. "I'm sure you're familiar with young women's grooming habits. Can't go two minutes without looking in the mirror."

Hermione's hand resting against the door balled into an angry fist.

"Quite," Mr. Andrews said, seemingly unwilling to humor the older man's cruel statements. "Do you have anywhere I can spread these out?"

"I suppose we can clear away the tea set," Lottie murmured. Hermione heard the tinkling of fine china being rearranged and the shuffling of something being spread out.

"What are they?" Lottie's bell of a voice came after a few moments. Hermione strained to hear.

"Do not bother Mr. Andrews with your questions," Horace chastised, "run along and deliver that jacket."

"No, it's alright," Thomas quickly reassured the maid, "They're blueprints for the ship, my dear."

At that, something in Hermione's heart lightened and she forgot all about the pain in her jaw and the horror of her morning.

 _Yes! Yes! Yes!_ That was what she had been hoping to find, and it had quite literally fallen into her lap! She couldn't have gotten any luckier than this.

"Oh, how interesting!" Lottie said.

"Go, Lottie," Horace barked.

Hermione couldn't hear anything else. Just some quiet shuffling and what she assumed was the click of the front door of their cabin.

She crossed the room to her vanity in record time, digging around in her drawer and carelessly patting on some pigmented powder. It hurt a little to apply, but she didn't dwell on it or let it slow her down. She glanced quickly at her reflection, studying the skin of her jaw. He had grabbed her roughly enough to ruin her foundation, but not enough to give her a bruise. She was thankful for that…it was one less thing to worry about.

When she entered the sitting room, she walked across the room with her chin held high. She gave Thomas Andrews what she hoped was a gracious smile.

"Mr. Andrews," she said, dipping low in a curtsey, "I'm so glad you could join me for tea."

"Annabelle," he tilted his head in a polite greeting and motioned to the stunning green dress her mother had picked out for her, "you look lovely. I'm relieved that you're well enough to meet with me."

"Ah, yes," Hermione said, feigning embarrassment, "it seems as though I may have been getting over a little bug this morning."

"It must be those bitter Atlantic winds," he said in his charming Irish accent, the corner of his eyes crinkling in a smile, "make sure you stay bundled up when you go outside."

"Don't worry, she won't be going outside anytime soon," Horace informed the naval architect and Hermione stiffened. Despite all of the violence he had shown her in response to her insolence, she had to actively clamp down on the urge to throw a withering glare his way. It seemed that her stubbornness and pride would never take a backseat to her instincts for self preservation.

"I'm sorry, I never got your name," Thomas said, suddenly turning all of his attention towards the butler.

"Horace."

"Well, Horace. I was under the impression that our tea time could be a more private affair," Thomas said, an edge of hardness in his voice, "I'm sure you understand."

Hermione's eyes widened as she looked from Mr. Andrews to Horace and back. The authority in his voice was unmistakable, and by the look in his eyes, the Architect had already decided that he did not like or trust the scarred man before him. Hermione could have sagged into the nearest chair in relief; she had been wanting him to leave for so long, yet hadn't had the authority to demand such a thing.

"As you wish, sir," Horace said after a long moment, his face a stark blend of indignance and embarrassment. "But I will be right outside the door in case anything arises."

"If that's what you see fit," he responded curtly, standing with hands clasped behind his back until the Butler retreated and the front door clicked shut.

Surprising Hermione with his brazenness, Thomas crossed the room and locked the door behind him. She gaped at him and he smiled at her.

She took a moment to glance at the end table beside the door. Upon it sat Horace's forgotten keys; he was actually locked out. She couldn't believe how quickly her fortunes had changed.

"Thank you," Hermione whispered.

"He's quite loathsome, isn't he?" He quipped and gave her a trusting wink. "I've seen him following you around for quite some time. At supper. On the decks. Down the halls..."

"It seems as though he doesn't trust me," she admitted, in the back of her mind she was floored at how honestly she spoke about the man outside of the door. For some reason, deep in her gut, she knew that she had an ally in Thomas Andrews.

"Why?" He asked, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

No sooner had he asked the question a deafening crash resounded from her room. Hermione jumped in shock, eyes darting back and forth from Mr. Andrews to the door.

"What was that?" He asked.

"I haven't the slightest idea," Hermione said truthfully. Had she left something dangling precariously off of the surface of her vanity? No. She wouldn't have done that. Nor would any inanimate object make such a loud racket falling to the floor.

The front door started jerking as Horace tried to open it, surely in response to the loud noise.

" _What was that sound?!_ " He barked from the other side of the oak door, _"let me in at once!"_

Hermione looked in panic to the front door, expecting it at any second to burst from its hinges under the wrath of that horrible man.

"Stay here," Mr. Andrews said and edged toward her room's door.

Hermione wrung her hands in nervousness. Once he stood before the door, he gently pushed it in until he had a crack to peer through. Had someone broken in? Who on earth would do such a thing?

"Unlock this door now, Annabelle!" Horace demanded from the hallway, shaking the handle with a feverity to rival an earthquake.

"Oh! It's Nicholas," Thomas Andrews said quietly in relief, pushing the door all the way open. Hermione stared in shock at the man. Did he mean Draco? _Her_ Draco? Surely there must have been some mistake.

When she approached the doorway to investigate for herself, sure enough, she saw Draco Malfoy collecting documents and supplies strewn about on the ornate rug. He must have knocked them from her desk when he had dropped in from the open window above it.

When he looked up at her, a light blush dusting the porcelain of his cheeks, everything seemed to go quiet: she no longer could hear the distressing sound of Horace pounding at the front door. She could no longer feel the aching in her jaw or the presence of the man beside her. She could only see Draco Malfoy.

"Draco," she whispered. Never in a million years would she have imagined such a scenario after how they had left things.

 _Why is he here?_ The question echoed incessantly in her head. _Isn't he upset with me?_

He was speechless for several moments, gaping at her and Thomas. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he seemed to come back into his body.

"That didn't go as smoothly as I would have preferred it," he grumbled, resuming his clean up of the scattered papers and journals.

* * *

 _A/N:_

 _I love scared Draco. I love stubborn Draco. I love caring Draco. I love clumsy Draco. I love every Draco._

 _Do you guys know what I mean? Even when he's being a little prat, I still love him. The next chapter will start with this little spill from his POV and I just honestly love it. He's hilarious._

 _This story is going somewhere good, and I can wait for you all to read it. Let me know what you think in a review!_


	13. Chapter 13

Draco had a plan, he was to sneak into Hermione's quarters - which he had seen Lottie point out the previous night. He would enter undetected, leave a note explaining where and when they should meet, and he would leave just as quickly.

What he had not planned on was getting a hole in his pants caught on the locking mechanism of the fucking windowsill, subsequently causing him to be stuck.

He wasn't exaggerating either. He was really stuck.

No matter how he tried to maneuver himself, the incessant tearing of the material of his pants rang out. He had been forced to free himself, sacrificing his trousers in the process, ripping the hole wider, and falling clumsily onto a desk full of papers. He rolled roughly onto the wood floor with a final thud. He laid there for a moment, the wind knocked out of him, praying that no one was home to find him in such a precarious situation.

He heard someone banging and shouting in the distance, surely in response to him and the racket he had just caused.

He could only imagine Annabelle's mum bursting in and screaming bloody murder, leading to him being dragged into the belly of the ship to be chained up. If that were to happen, he would most certainly go down with it once it struck the iceberg. With that horrifying thought, Draco sat up and began to clean up his mess, looking around the elegant quarters for a place to hide.

He didn't get far when a man's quiet voice came from the door.

"Oh! It's Nicholas."

The tone of the voice wasn't angry, as he had expected. It was…amused? When Draco looked up, he saw Thomas Andrews peering down at him in curiosity. Had he climbed through the wrong window? He had gotten himself into an even worse situation than he thought. When Hermione Granger's head popped around the corner, his heart began to beat faster. So it was the right room? What was going on?

He hadn't expected anyone to be home, let alone Hermione herself. He could feel his face warming as she stared at him. When she entered the room fully, he saw that she was clad in the most alluring emerald green dress he had ever seen. It made his mouth go dry.

"Draco," she whispered, and his first name on her red lips stupefied him. Wasn't she mad at him? She didn't look mad, even after how he had blown up on her that previous night… when they had locked eyes, the room had gone quiet; the whole world disappearing around him. He knew that he had sworn to himself that he wouldn't seek her out again... But there was something about her that pulled him to her. It was magnetic… And in that moment, he was entranced.

He wondered dimly if she felt it too.

Realizing that they had been staring at one another for much too long to be considered friendly, he broke himself out of his revery. He had to firmly remind himself where and who he was.

"That didn't go as smoothly as I would have preferred it," he told them once he had managed to find his voice. He finished collecting all of the papers that had slipped from the desk, cursing himself. He typically prided himself on being a fairly graceful individual. Years of rigorous physical exercise for Quidditch had assured that.

"Nice of you to _drop in,_ lad," the man said, smiling in amusement. Mr. Andrews looked pointedly at Hermione, who blushed in response.

"I know this looks... scandalous," she said, the typically Eloquent Granger turning flustered and stumbling over her explanation, "but, but... I didn't ask him to come!"

"She didn't ask me," Draco insisted, standing up on shaky legs to place the papers, journals, and supplies in his arms onto the desk's surface. "I-I was just coming to leave her a note…thanking her for dinner." It was a bollocks excuse, but it was all he could think of.

"It's alright," Thomas said, holding up his hands in surrender. "Who am I to judge? I was young and in love once, too."

"No," Draco floundered, the words 'in love' bouncing around his skull, "it's not that… we're not together."

The older man gave the two of them a look that said _'I'm not a fool.'_

Draco and Hermione looked at one another, both faces aflame. They seemed to realize simultaneously just how bad this looked. Draco could still hear the angry pounding and shouting from the other room. He had a sneaking suspicion who it must have been.

"Please, Mr. Andrews, you can't tell Horace," Hermione stressed, looking from the older man to Draco. "He'll kill him."

He looked in alarm to Hermione, who stared back at him, the look in her eyes meant that she was dead serious. Would the man actually kill him?

"Well, then I suggest you hide," Thomas told Draco, "there's a good chance he'll kick the door in if we don't let him back inside."

"Quick," Hermione said urgently, crossing the room to her armoire and pulling it open, "get in."

Draco didn't need to be told twice, he launched himself into the wardrobe. She closed the door until it was just himself, the darkness, and Hermione's dozens of dresses. He hunkered down as he heard them cross to close the window, tidy things up a bit, and leave the room. His heart pounded wildly in his chest as he tried to control his breathing.

After what felt like nothing more than a millisecond, Draco could hear Horace burst into the room.

"I know someone is here!" He barked. Through the wood, Draco could hear a clattering racket… it seemed as though the older man was throwing things to the ground. Was he… throwing a fit?

"There's no one, Horace! I told you, I slipped and fell," Hermione's voice joined the cacophony.

"Bollocks," the old man snapped back, and Draco heard his voice edge nearer to his hiding spot. He retreated deeper into the closet, preparing to find himself face to face with the terrible man.

"I'm telling the truth!" Hermione insisted.

"Shut your bloody mouth!"

"Please, Horace!"

The handle to the wardrobe began to turn- _Oh Salazar, save him-_

"That's enough!" Thomas Andrews voice came, harsher than Draco had ever heard it. The handle froze in its place. "You've embarrassed yourself quite thoroughly, old man."

"With all due respect, sir-"

"No," Andrews said, "Annabelle told you the truth. Why do you insist on making a fool of yourself?"

A thick silence settled over the room outside of his hiding spot, and Draco could practically feel the tension... even through the wood door.

"Don't make me file a report against you for unruly behavior," the Naval architect said.

"It's our room," Horace rebutted.

"On my ship."

Another silence. Draco strained to listen over the pounding of his heart. A sheen of sweat had begun to form on his brow, and he resisted the urge to swipe it away.

Several more moments passed by; he listened for any other sound, but heard nothing. Had they left? What was going on?

The door before him opened, and he flinched away. His fight or flight instincts kicked in, and he ducked to the side. He was ready to launch himself out and make for the window.

"Draco!" Hermione's voice came, "it's just me!"

His vision focused on her and he could've melted into a puddle in relief.

"He's gone," she told him and reached a tentative hand out. She placed it on his shoulder as if to steady him. "It's alright. Mr. Andrews took him away, but he'll be right back."

"Merlin, Granger. I almost pissed myself," he stressed, taking a shaky step out of the armoire. The air was blissfully cool when he took a deep breath. "...I can see why you're so scared of him, now."

"Right," she said, eyes averted, pulling her hand from his shoulder and tucking her arm behind her back. His gaze followed her movement and a familiar warning bell rang in the forefront of his mind.

"Is he…" He said, working through his muddled thoughts, suddenly recalling their dance the previous night: a hiss of pain with a wrongly placed touch, a dozen speckled bruises upon her forearm, dismissive comments, "...where did you get those other bruises?"

She didn't meet his eyes, and the final piece of the puzzle clicked into place.

A sudden sense of urgency overtook him, and he asked: "Does Horace hurt you?"

"I'm okay."

He took her chin between his fingers and tilted her face until she had no choice but to look at him. The last time they had been this close, he had closed the space between them in a kiss.

"That's not what I asked. Tell me the truth."

"I'm okay, Draco," she insisted, but her eyes told a different story. She was a bad liar, all Gryffindors were.

"Bollocks," he said, "tell me."

They held one another's gaze for several moments, Draco's grey eyes cutting into hers with an intensity that would rival the sun's.

"It's nothing." Even if she was a bad liar, she was a stubborn one.

"I don't believe you."

"We don't have time to argue about this," she dismissed, "we have much to plan."

Before he could push her further, she pulled her chin out of his grasp and began to pace in front of her bed.

"I'm glad you've arrived when you have, you can sit down with Mr. Andrews, too. We still have about an hour before Annabelle's mother returns, and I'm sure he'll be fine with it."

"What in the bloody hell are you even talking about?"

"He's going to tell me about the inner workings of the ship, then we can make a plan to - I don't know, sabotage something or divert the course…"

"Why do you think this is a 'we' situation?" Draco asked harshly, and it caused Hermione to pause in her ceaseless pacing. She looked at him with furrowed brows.

"Why are you here if you don't want to help me?" She asked, crossing her arms in front of her.

"I'm planning to make an escape with Hamish and the others tonight…and I thought it was only fair to let you know so that you can escape with us. Lottie can come, too."

She stared at him in stunned silence, and he edged closer to her and put his hands on her shoulders, as if he was going to shake some sense into her. She let him touch her, and he was quietly relieved

"We can have a fair chance to survive, Granger."

It took her a moment to find her voice once more: "You're telling me that we should abandon ship? That six of us row away on a lifeboat... and let all of these innocent people perish when we know full well that we can save them?"

"Well, if that's how you want to put it."

She stared at him for several moments. He searched her mahogany eyes, momentarily distracted by the beautiful warmth the color conveyed; he had never really noticed the small flecks of gold surrounding her pupils... Just how much of Hermione Granger had he managed to miss all of these years?

"What do you say?"

After several more moments of staring, his heart pounding in his ears, she shook her head. Cold disappointment coursed through him. He knew it was a long shot, but he thought maybe she'd want to escape if she knew he'd survive too. They could both live… together.

"I thought you had changed, Malfoy," she whispered, the words laced with disappointment and judgement. "I thought you had begun to see that muggles are worth saving… that they're people, too."

"Don't be daft. What about Hamish, Tommy and Sam? Last I checked they were all muggles."

"They're your friends," she stated and he rolled his eyes.

"Yes. They are. And Slytherins look out for their friends."

"Well, Gryffindors look out for everyone."

"Merlin, Granger. Stop acting so high and mighty."

"It's not high and mighty to want to save lives, Malfoy!" She was shouting now. She pulled herself from his grasp, and his hands felt cold.

"It's bloody daft and dangerous!" His volume rose to meet hers, "What!? You want to steal down to the bridge and what… cut some cords? Unscrew some pipes? Give fake orders? You could cause an explosion and tear a hole in the hull! You could crash us into some other bloody iceberg and we could sink sooner, and then we would definitely go down with it!"

"And you want to take a lifeboat made for 80 people that would have otherwise had the chance to live!? What are we gonna eat or drink out there, Malfoy!?"

"We can steal supplies!"

"Oh, and then what about after that? We're going to float around for a few days in the middle of the Atlantic hoping someone just happens to sail by? We'd die of exposure and dehydration before anyone finds us."

"We'll follow her course, it can't be that difficult."

"Do you realize how fast we're going?"

"Then we'll set off tomorrow! Right before the sinking!"

"They aren't going to believe you! There's no way in hell three steerage muggles are going to follow you off of the 'unsinkable ship' onto a rickety row boat because you say, despite all odds, that it will sink! They'll think you're a loon."

With that, Draco was speechless. Something in his guts shifted at that… he hadn't thought about them not believing him. He had been too blindsided with the idea of survival…

"Friends believe friends." He murmured, still trying to hold onto his last thread in the argument.

"Yes, I know," she agreed, taking a breath and tucking a loose curl behind her ear. "But this is a big, dangerous decision. Anyone with half a brain would choose to stay aboard."

"They'll believe me." He said, standing strong and pushing down any doubts she had imprinted upon him. "I can explain it somehow."

The two of them glared at one another, electric energy crackling between them.

"Fine. So be it," she huffed, throwing her hands in the air. "Let you and your friends starve to death and deny 80 people the chance to board a lifeboat. But I won't be part of it. I refuse. I have a mission."

"You'll fail," he snapped, suddenly losing his cool once more, "Can't you see? You're fighting fate. The only way out of this is off!"

"Maybe I am a fool," Hermione said shakily, "but I'd rather be a dead fool having tried my best to save others…. than a living coward who only saved herself."

"Fine."

"Fine!"

Draco swallowed roughly and studied her expression. He knew her well enough to know that she meant it… but he couldn't back down now. He would never admit that she was right. He crossed the room back to the porthole, with shaking hands he wrenched it open roughly. He glared back at the witch.

"I'll be at the lifeboats towards the bow tonight at sundown. If you change your mind, meet me there."

"I won't," she told him, her face a stony blend of anger and sorrow.

And with that, he hopped onto the desk and climbed out onto the deck. He was surprised how easily he could lift his limbs despite the fact that they felt as heavy as lead. As his feet connected with the wooden deck outside and he straightened himself up, he hoped distantly that his exit was much more graceful than his entrance had been.

. . .

When Thomas Andrews returned to Annabelle's quarters, he was surprised to find Annabelle sitting in the front room alone, no Nicholas in sight. She was gazing out of the porthole, streaks of dried tears down her cheeks

Her silence was thick with grief.

"Are you alright, dear?"

She jumped at his voice. Had she not heard him enter?

"Oh! Mr. Andrews!" She greeted, wiping at her face with the back of her hand. "Sorry, I didn't hear you knock."

"I hope it's alright that I let myself in."

"It's perfectly fine," she said, standing up and plastering a smile to her pretty face.

"Where is Nicholas?"

Her smile faltered.

"He had to return to steerage."

"... I understand."

"Shall we?" She motioned to the unrolled blueprints waiting patiently atop the tea table.

"Yes, of course," he said and nodded, moving to sit across from her. Thomas thought of how he had left her quick-tempered man servant: sitting and answering a long list of questions about his behavior upon his ship. "At least Horace has been taken care of. He's receiving quite a stern 'talking-to' at the moment."

"I can't thank you enough for that," she breathed, "really, truly. Thank you."

He waved it away.

"Just doing my duty and keeping peace."

The naval architect went to unroll the first blueprint he had brought along. "Now, to start…"

He paused to rack his brain: what would be some interesting, yet consumable knowledge for the girl before him?

"I actually have a few questions for you," she said sheepishly, "that is, if you don't mind."

Now, that surprised him.

"It's not everyday that I can satiate the curiosity of such a bright young woman," he responded, "I'm happy to answer anything. As long as you keep the trade secrets to yourself, young lady."

With that, something inside of her seemed to switch. She sat up straighter, the corners of her mouth turning up slightly in a soft smile. And this time, it seemed to be genuine

"I promise."

. . .

"D'you feel better?" Tommy asked as Draco neared him and Sam's place in the third class smoking decks. It was a dreadfully bare space; a sorry excuse for a lounge. It was nothing more than a dimly lit, airy space just below the decks that was filled to the brim with rows upon rows of uncomfortable benches. It was there that the third class passengers could speak to one another, make new friends, have debates, play card games, and most significantly: smoke.

"What? Uh- yes," he answered distractedly, running his hands through his hair. He scanned the smokey space for his Scottish companion. He couldn't spot him, which was quite a surprise, considering the fact that he was quite literally the largest man Draco had ever met, and easily one of the tallest passengers aboard. "Where's Hamish?"

The two grinned and Sam pointed towards the stairs leading down to the third class quarters. Beside them, tucked away in a secluded corner, stood Hamish and Lottie. The Scottish man seemed to be telling the young maid a funny story, as evident by the fact that she couldn't stop giggling. She twirled a tightly coiled blonde curl around her finger, following his exaggerated tale with adoring eyes.

"I see," Draco said, being able to sense the attraction even from across the room.

"They've been like that for at least an hour," Sam said, gazing at the pair. "You should've seen her when she first came down. She was really upset, practically crying... now she's giggling like a schoolgirl."

Tommy shook his head and smiled bitterly, "she's butter in his hands." He looked up at the sky in frustration, "where's my seafaring romance? Where's my Hermione? I'll take a Lottie for Christ sakes."

"Why is she here?" He asked, ignoring the sharp stab of pain hearing 'romance' and 'Hermione' next to each other elicited inside of him.

"Some cock and bull story about picking up something from your quarters," Tommy said, raising his eyebrows in disbelief. "I think it's just an excuse to see him."

A light bulb lit up.

"Molly's tuxedo," he murmured to himself, putting two and two together.

"Huh?"

"Nothing," he said, holding up his hand in a 'stay here' motion. "I need to talk to you guys about something. Don't go anywhere."

"Alright, then."

"Where would we even go?" Sam mumbled as Draco retreated towards Hamish.

When Lottie spotted Draco approaching through the sea of passengers, her smile faltered and she stood up straighter. She was on guard… Why? Did she view him as some sort of a threat? He wondered what Hermione had told her. After all she had caught them fighting… maybe even kissing.

Hamish must have noticed the girl's sudden shift in attention, because he looked over his shoulder to glare at the distraction. But when he saw that it was the Slytherin, his face lit up.

"I have to talk to you," Draco said.

Hamish ignored his friend's urgent greeting.

"Yer awake! How're yeh feelin'?" He spun around to greet him, searching his face as if to gauge his health at just a glance. "I was worried about yeh."

"Better. Thanks," he said. He would never get used to how much these men seemed to care about his well being. "Listen, I have to-"

"Wonderful!" He said, smiling. Lottie was studying him from behind Hamish's massive frame, peeking only slightly out from behind his back. Their size difference was so staggering that Draco couldn't help but notice that she resembled a bashful child hiding behind her father. Her blue eyes bore into his, certainly not in a friendly way.

"Yeh remember Lottie, don't yeh?" He said, pulling the young maid forward with an arm around her shoulder. He beamed down at her unabashedly. Her face flamed a bright pink, his boldness obviously shocking her.

"Of course," Draco said, nodding his head in a greeting. She had seen his meltdown the previous night. She had interrupted their fight. Of course he remembered her.

"I'm here to pick up your tuxedo," she said and dipped in a quick curtsy, "the one Madame Brown lent you.

"I see."

"Hermione sent her for lunch," Hamish beamed, "we can all sit down together. Like a big family."

At the name 'Hermione', Lottie looked up in surprise. Draco's stomach twisted. He hadn't expected him flubbing up her name to come back and bite him so quickly.

"Hermione?" Lottie asked, furrowing her eyebrows. Oh no.

"Aye, Hermione," he nodded, "a lovely girl, she is. Yer lucky that she's the one yeh look after. It could be much worse with them first class folks."

She looked at Draco, her suspicious gaze returning as the pink in her cheeks faded to a slight tinge. Bloody hell.

Thankfully, instead of pushing forward and investigating further, she changed subjects.

"Is the suit in your cabin?" She asked. "Would you mind taking me there?"

He didn't want to. He didn't have time. Every minute that passed by was one less minute to prepare for their escape. He dug around in his pocket for his key.

"You can just let yourself in," he said, offering it to her. "You can give it back later. Or keep it. I don't care."

He didn't plan on returning to his quarters anymore… He'd sleep on the benches. He'd wear the same clothes. He wouldn't allow himself to be locked up in that oversized tomb. She stared at his outstretched hand then up to his face, dumb struck.

"It's the room M-126."

"Blimey, Nick!" Hamish cried in horror, pushing his hand away. "Where are yer manners?"

"I don't have time! We have to talk."

"Jesus Christ! Whatever it is… it can wait," he stressed.

It was then that he looked down to Lottie and spoke softly, "I'll take yeh there. I'm sorry. He's been actin' really strange."

"She's been acting strangely, too," she whispered. _Fuck._ She meant Hermione.

It was then that he realized that he couldn't let them be alone together. Who knows what they would say… who knows what kind of questions Lottie would bring back to Hermione. She had been so careful to blend in and not to attract any suspicion to herself, and he had gone and ruined it all. She would be so angry with him.

Well, even _more_ angry with him.

"You're right," Draco said suddenly, moving to stuff the key back in his pocket and moved to climb down the stairs to their right. "I'll take her."

"No." Hamish put his heavy hand on Draco's shoulder and told him sternly, "Yeh've offended the lass. I'll take her."

"We'll all go together," the Slytherin insisted. Anything to keep them from being alone together.

Then Lottie's voice piped up: "It's alright. You can stay and relax, _Draco."_

Draco's feet went cold.

His gaze travelled up to meet hers.

She stared at him, eyes challenging.

Hearing his real name on someone else's lips seemed to pull the ground out from beneath his feet. He tried to respond, but nothing came to his lips. She was catching on to them, he was sure of it. They wouldn't be able to hide from her much longer.

But what could he tell her? She wouldn't believe him. She would assume he was some sort of scam artist, trying to swindle his way into Annabelle's good graces.

He was in freefall until Hamish said:

"No, no, Love. His name is Nicholas," the Scottish man teased, giving Draco a wink before pulling her in for a hug. "How embarassin'."

"It's easy to forget," he mumbled.

"We'll be right back," Hamish said once he released Lottie from his smothering embrace. "Save us a spot for lunch."

His companion grinned down at him as Lottie laced her arm through his, but Draco couldn't muster a smile. How had things begun to slip through his fingers so quickly? What if the maid convinced his friend that he's psychotic? Or a lying sociopath? Hamish would never heed his warnings and escape with him then. She was taking him away from Draco... It would be too late.

He watched them retreat back down the stairs, beginning the trek back to their room to retrieve the borrowed suit. His stomach churned when Lottie looked over her shoulder to give him one last distrustful glance before she disappeared from view.

* * *

 ** _A/N:_**

 _Thank you so so much for your kind reviews. Albe-chan, your review lit up my entire day. I wish I was joking, haha! It inspired me so much to write more. All of your reviews have. Every. Single. One._

 _I know I don't update as often as other authors may, but I won't abandon this fic without a warning or an update... My goal is to update once a month, and so far I feel I've had a pretty solid streak. If you don't hear from me for a few weeks, don't panic. It's just the whole living-as-an-adult thing. It sucks, but it's unavoidable._

 _I hope you like this chapter, I have the next few written out, it's only a matter of fine tuning them for public consumption! Let me know what you think, where it's going, what you would LIKE to happen! I'll get the next out sooner than later, I bet._


	14. Chapter 14

"Oh!" Thomas Andrews said once Annabelle's mother had materialized in their sitting room, "Is it time for lunch already?"

"It seems as though it is," she said through tight lips, and Hermione groaned inwardly. She had only managed to squeeze in an hour out of their meeting. The fiasco with Horace and Draco had taken a massive chunk out of her lesson that she could have really utilized. Despite that, she had learned a lot: She had received a quick lesson on the Beaufort Scale. They had spent a good half an hour going over the turbines. She had made it a point to ask him about the stokers, as well.

"825 tons!?"

"Per day."

"They must be quite tired at the end of their shift!"

They had gone back and forth like that for a while: her asking questions, him answering them. She was impressed, never had she met someone with a memory so similar to hers: he had memorized every single nook and cranny in the vessel with a photographic clarity.

"Hello, mother," Hermione greeted dryly, standing up from her spot. Mr. Andrews rose to stand beside her. He closed the distance between the two of them and drew the older woman's gloved hand up for a polite kiss.

"Thank you for letting the two of us sit down together," he said, laying on the charm, "Your daughter is highly intelligent."

He looked at the young witch, offering a kind smile. Hermione couldn't help but grin back in pride. It felt good to be seen as who she really was.

"Thank you, Thomas," Martha drawled, eyes flicking from Hermione to sailor in suspicion. She took her hand out of his grasp. "That's very kind of you to say."

"I'm not just saying it. I would actually recommend enrolling her in University. I know there's a program in New York that admits a few young ladies-"

"Thank you for your advice," Martha said, voice like ice. "But University is no place for my Annabelle."

"I respectfully disagree, madame," he said, shaking his head, "I must insist that you consider this path for her. She may be the brightest woman I have ever met. Her ability to absorb and learn information-"

"I'm pleased that you think so," Martha snapped, clasping her hands tightly together - as if imagining his neck were between them -"but with all due respect, it is not your place to insist on such a thing. I would appreciate it if you didn't tell me how to raise my child."

A silence filled the air, and Hermione couldn't help but glare daggers at the woman. Merlin, she hated her. She didn't think she could hate anyone more than Lord Voldemort himself…. But this woman came close.

"I apologize," Thomas Andrews said after a few moments, obviously trying to mend the situation. She almost wanted to tell him not to bother. That it didn't matter how Martha felt about him, or about the two of them sitting down together. Nothing mattered unless she did something to save them all. "It wasn't my intention to tell you how to raise her."

"I knew I shouldn't have let you two have this… strange meeting. You're filling her head with blasphemous nonsense."

Hermione sighed heavily, all of this fighting, all of these petty squabbles, it was really beginning to wear on her.

"Let's just go to lunch, please," Hermione told the two of them, "I'm famished."

"Yes!" Mr. Andrews agreed, obviously relieved in the change of subject, "I'll escort you both."

"There's no need," Martha said quickly, "Horace will do that."

She snapped her fingers. They waited, and when he didn't crawl out from under some shadow the way that they had grown accustomed to, the older woman looked around in confusion. Hermione suppressed a smile at the confused look on her face.

"Horace!" She called.

No answer. Hermione pursed her lips at Mr. Andrews, who raised his eyebrows in return.

"Where is he?" She snapped, growing impatient.

"He's being questioned by the guards," Hermione said, relishing every single word that rolled off of her tongue, "what was it for again, Mr. Andrews?"

"Disturbing the peace," the man reminded her, he then turned to Annabelle's mother, "Worry not, he should return shortly… but it seems as though your servant has quite the temper, madame."

Martha gaped, glancing between the two in front of her, absolutely dumbfounded. This time, the Gryffindor girl didn't stop the smile that tugged at her lips. Finally, she had won a battle. Hermione met Thomas's eyes and nodded towards the door. He offered the crook of his elbow to her, and she took it. Together, they began their walk to the first class dining hall.

As they passed by the older woman, who stood frozen in shock, Hermione couldn't help what came out of her mouth next:

"Perhaps he's not the only one."

. . .

"What if I told you this ship was going to sink?" Draco said all in one breath. He looked down as his hands began to shake. They had gone to the decks above for their hourly smoke break. Draco didn't smoke, so he typically didn't partake, but with the stress of the sinking weighing so heavily upon him, he seriously considered taking it up in that moment. They said it was a good stress reliever, right?

Sam and Tommy stared at him in alarm. He had wanted to wait for Hamish to return to them, but had yet to show up. He was too busy shagging Lottie's brains out for all he knew.

"This ship? The Titanic?" Tommy asked.

"Yes. This ship," he stood, balling his hands into fists to keep them from noticing the tremor. "That it's going to sink."

"I'd say you're barmy," Tommy said, huffing humorously. He struck a match to light his cigarette.

"I'd say you're pulling my leg" Sam agreed, looking at him with a raised brow before leaning down to light the cigarette between his teeth with Tommy's outstretched match. Draco watched in desperation as the pristine white tip of the cigarette burned and blackened before alighting with a glowing red ember. He swallowed roughly, it was what he had feared... Of course they wouldn't believe him.

He forced the words out, his heart pounding in his chest: "Well, it is."

"Har har har," Tommy mocked, "the unsinkable ship actually will sink. Good one."

"I'm serious," he pressed forward, despite every atom in his body begging him to pull back: they won't believe you! Don't even try! You're just going to push them away! "I know it sounds like I'm taking the piss out of you, but the ship is actually going to go down."

"Yeah, and the captain will come out, pull down his pants and take a shit right here, right now," Sam joked, looking at the Irish Man in amusement. They chuckled, and Draco wanted to punch them both. He wanted to curse at them and rough them up until they fell in line… but he knew it wouldn't work. They weren't Crabbe and Goyle.

"Tomorrow night we're going to strike an iceberg," he pressed forward, his voice growing in volume; as if the louder he spoke the more likely it'd be that they would believe him. "I can't remember if it's going to be at two AM or maybe three… but we can't be around when it happens."

"Alright, alright. Very funny." They were getting tired of the joke. Except it wasn't a joke. It was real. In two days they would be frozen corpses bobbing lifelessly in the ocean… or maybe floating thousands of feet below, trapped in their rooms below as tiny fish ate their flesh and picked their eyes out with tiny mouths. He had to save them. He began to sweat, his heart pounding wildly in his chest.

"If we stay aboard, we're all going to die," now that he had let the truth out, it burst from his mouth like a dam breaking, the horrible news spewing out at an unprecedented rate. "They're going to lock us up below and we'll go down with the ship. Everyone here will die."

A family sitting across from them looked up at Draco. The father glared at him.

"What is that man saying, Papa?" One of the little boys asked, his sooty face screwed up in confusion. His mother leant down to whisper something in his ear. The image of the little boy looking in concern from his mother caused a sharp stab of pain to course through him, but he willed it back down.

"Woah buddy, slow your row." Sam said, the light-hearted smile dropping off of his face. "It's not funny."

"Lower your voice," Tommy stood up straight, glancing around at the other passengers milling about. "You're going to cause a panic."

"Good!"

"Where is this coming from, man?" Sam asked, putting out his smoke and turning his full attention to the Slytherin.

"It's the truth."

"If it was true... How would you even know?"

"I…" he began, but stopped. How do you even begin to tell this story? He looked at the two muggles before him. They didn't believe in magic. They didn't believe in time travel or portkeys or apparition… How could he convince them? He fumbled for a substantial answer, "...Hermione knows. She's said she's seen it happen before."

"What, she can see into the future?"

"Something like that," he mumbled, wishing he could just come clean and tell them the whole truth. He wanted them to know everything. He wanted to tell him that he wasn't Nicholas. He was Draco Malfoy, a wizard from the year 2000. But even just thinking it, he knew it sounded ludicrous.

"And you believed her? Are you stupid, or just bloody insane?" Tommy asked, looking at Draco with pity. Tommy had looked at him a lot of different ways in the last few days of their voyage, but this sort of infantilizing pity, paired with his harsh words struck at something inside of him.

His vision went red, and before he knew what was happening, his hands were on the Irish Man's chest, shoving him backwards. The cigarette flew from his mouth as he fell roughly into the iron wall behind him. The crowd around them edged away, hollering in surprise.

"Fuck you!" Draco cried, grabbing a fist full of his vest in one hand and shoving a finger in his face with the other, "I'm trying to save your life, you prick!"

"Woah!" Sam said, immediately putting himself between the two of them, "what the hell, Nick!?"

"I'll kick your arse!" Tommy said, straightening up and launching himself at Draco. The Irish man's sturdy fist connected with his stomach, and he keeled over. As he struggled for breath, Draco realized that he had failed. His temper had gotten the better of him once more, and instead of remedying the situation, he only made it worse.

"Leave it, Tommy!" Sam said, struggling to keep the angry man at bay. Draco looked up at his two companions, glaring in the sunlight.

"Kick my arse all you want," he gasped out, "but it won't matter. We'll be dead soon."

"You belong in a fucking loony bin, you hear me?!" Tommy spat, literally spat. A few flecks of spittle landed on Draco's face. He didn't bother to wipe it away.

"Knock if off with that shit!" Sam cried, grunting from the exertion it took to wrangle Tommy in, "you're just making it worse, Nick."

He stood as straight as he could, clutching at his stomach. "My name isn't Nick… It's Draco."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Sam asked, and that strange statement was enough to cease Tommy's struggles. They stared at him, confused.

"He's really gone off the deep end," Tommy mumbled in disgust.

"It doesn't matter anymore," he whispered. He wanted to lie down and give up. Fine. Let the ship drag him under. He didn't care anymore. Sam and Tommy didn't believe him. Hamish had abandoned him for some girl. He had failed his mission and fucked up so royally he had ended up on a sinking ship full of corpses. He was a cursed son, destined to betray his family. And above all, Hermione didn't like him. She would rather die saving a couple thousand strangers than stay alive with him.

But then again: why would she? All he had done all their lives was torture her. He had been cruel and uncaring. He had said the most horrible things to her… a single kiss wouldn't undo all of that. His throat felt like a hot towel had been stuffed inside of it. He wasn't sure if he wanted to vomit, or cry. Or maybe both. He was that pathetic.

After a few tense moments, Draco turned and went to walk through the crowd that had formed around them. They parted, letting the crazy man screaming about death and destruction and drowning pass by them.

Fuck them, he thought bitterly. I tried to warn them. It's their own fault.

 _I don't care._ He told himself, walking past the dozens of men and women who had no future… no hope. A group of children ran by, playing some sort of game with a hoop that rolled along the ground. They used some sort of stick to keep it upright. Their laughter stabbed into him like a million knives.

 _I don't care about them._ He repeated inwardly, wiping away the wetness on his cheeks. _They're muggles,_ he thought again, and it was a ceaseless chant inside him, _they're only muggles. Only muggles._

. . .

Annabelle's mother had been shockingly subdued all throughout lunch and well into the evening. Hermione studied the older woman from across the room. They were in one of the many cafes, sitting idly by as they were served tea and coffee until it was time to move into the dining room to eat yet another lavish meal. How the first class managed to keep thin, Hermione would never understand. She studied the harsh lines of her mother's mouth, forever pointing downward in a judgemental slope. She hadn't even tried to acknowledge Hermione's presence since learning of Horace's punishment.

Speaking of which, he still hadn't returned… Which was half elating, half terrifying. He could arrive at any moment, and she was sitting like a bump on a log, waiting for him to walk through the door. She had hoped that this intervention would inspire a change of heart from her mother and the manservant, but her gut told her otherwise. The worst had yet to come.

She gazed out the Parisian-inspired windows and took note of the dusty pink tinge the horizon was beginning to take. At the reminder of sunset, her thoughts drifted back to Draco, and subsequently, their last fight. She wondered if his plan was unfolding the way he wanted it to. Perhaps he had succeeded in convincing his companions of the doom ahead. Maybe he was dashing about the ship with them, sneaking into the kitchens and storage rooms in order to steal supplies. Her stomach twisted… was she the foolish one? The idea of him leaving her all alone on this ship caused tears to prick in her eyes. She hoped to Merlin she hadn't been abandoned by him. He had been so stubborn about his plan, but she supposed she had been too. What had she done? They could have settled on something... if only she hadn't been so headstrong.

"Are you okay, dear?" a voice cut through her inner turmoil, and Hermione looked up to see Molly Brown's concerned gaze upon her.

"Yes, sorry," she said, forcing a laugh, "I'm just thinking."

"Penny for your thoughts?" The American woman asked, a concerned look in her eyes, "What are you thinkin', child?"

Freezing. Icebergs. Death. Starving. Drowning. Draco.

"The sky." Liar.

"Ah, it's quite beautiful right now." Molly nodded.

"It is," one of the eavesdropping women agreed, "it's going to be a beautiful sunset this evening, I can tell."

"Then what are we doing lazing around inside? We should take a stroll and enjoy the view the way god intended!" Molly cried, setting down her teacup and moving to stand.

"That's a lovely idea!"

"Oh, wonderful," another woman piped up.

"Make sure you bundle up, dear. It's nippy out there," one of the mothers of the group said, wrapping a scarf around her childs' neck. The sight of that made her ache for her real mother.

Hermione rose from her spot, pulling on her coat and buttoning it before slipping on her matching gloves. She followed the women out completely on autopilot. Her mother passed by her without one word, and she thanked the heavens for small mercies.

The group of women stood along the rail containing them to the first class promenade. The wind was icy cold, but the view was incredible. Molly was right. It was so much better outside.

"Now would you look at that," she whispered, her curls and the fur on her jacket trembling in the wind, "that is a sight to see... not quite a Colorado sunset, but this is impressive, too."

"It is," Hermione agreed, suddenly finding it hard to speak. She was suddenly choked with emotion, tears blurring the sunset until was nothing more than a foggy mess of colors. "I wish life was always this beautiful."

"You can't have the beauty without the ugly," Molly said, and Hermione wondered if she always had some sort of a whimsical piece of advice jotted down on the inside of her hand.

"It's going to get very ugly, Molly," she confided in her, voice wavering. They were far enough away from her mother and any other prying ears that she felt free to speak her truth, "I'm really afraid."

Suddenly, without any warning, Molly placed a gentle hand on her back and led her away from the rest of the group. If the ladies noticed, they didn't say anything. Once they had rounded the corner, and were out of site, the American woman took Hermione in her arms.

"Now listen here, child," she said quietly in her ear, "if someone is making you afraid, you tell me right now."

Hermione pulled back and stared at her in shock, a few tears escaping and racing down her cheeks.

"Is your mother hurting you?"

Hermione couldn't speak, she couldn't breathe. That hadn't been what she had been talking about, but somehow Molly had figured her mother out.

When Hermione said nothing, Molly watched her expression closely...

Hermione tried to tell her, she really did... but suddenly she was afraid. After a few moments, Molly pulled her back into a hug.

"You don't have to tell me, but just know that my door is always open to you," she said fiercely. "It doesn't matter when. Day or night. I'm right here."

Before they could be discovered, they pulled away from one another to resume their walk as if nothing had happened. Hermione dabbed at her tears with the handkerchief she had tucked away in her sleeve. She had been crying so much these last few days... did that make her weak? She had always considered herself a strong woman, but perhaps she was nothing more than a frightened child. She glanced at Molly Brown from the corner of her eye, and Hermione wondered if she ever cried. She couldn't imagine it. Molly was truly unsinkable.

As the sun dipped lower into the horizon, the sky turned the most vibrant of pinks she had ever seen, bleeding into the most alluring shades of azure. Another day almost gone. One day closer to the sinking. Had she even made any progress? Sure, she had finally learned a thing or two about the ship beneath her feet, but she hadn't actually done anything except bounce a few half-formed plans about her skull.

 _"Can't you see? You're fighting fate. The only way out of this is off!"_ Draco's discouraging words came back to her, her heart was solid lead inside of her chest. She hoped he was wrong about that.

"Oh, Anna," Molly whispered, suddenly stopping them in their tracks. "Look who it is." She gazed down at the third class decks below. There, in the distance, right at the stern of the ship, was the unmistakable mop of platinum hair. Draco.

Her heart lightened immediately, fluttering about her ribcage like a bird singing to be set free. He was still on board! He hadn't left her all alone in this horrible mess! She took a moment to study his body language: he didn't look like anyone in the middle of a risky and dangerous escape mission. He looked like a resigned man... one who had realized his plan wouldn't come to fruition. Hermione bit her lip, hope warming her cheeks and setting a fire blazing throughout her limbs.

"You've got it bad, kid," Molly commented, and her voice broke Hermione out of her trance.

"Huh?" She whispered, eyes still glued to the Slytherin in the distance.

"Go on," she motioned to Draco, "I'll cover for ya."

It took Hermione a second to realize what Molly meant. Once it clicked, she couldn't help the smile that spread across her face.

"Thank you Molly," she said and gave the plump woman one final hug, "thank you, thank you, thank you."

She wished she could say it a million times more.

"Goodness, child." Molly laughed. "Go on. Get."

Hermione didn't have to be told a third time. She raced from the first class decks, not caring if anyone saw her or scolded her. She pushed open the gate separating their two classes. She lifted her skirts as she sped down the stairs, displaying her ankles in an oh-so-scandalous way. She didn't care. She just laughed at the shocked expressions of the men and women around her.

She dipped and dodged between passengers and sailors, giggling aloud as the wind nipped at her nose and whipped her hair from the carefully placed pins—Merlin, it felt so good to run.

As she neared the stern, she slowed to catch her breath. She watched his form as he climbed up the edge of the rail, holding onto the cables jutting up from the deck. He tilted his head back and outstretched his arms.

He wasn't going to jump was he? He looked like he was ready to fly away. She neared closer.

"What are you doing?" She called to him.

He started in surprise, clinging to the wires as he swayed precariously forward, _"Fuck!"_

She winced, not having intended to scare him.

He climbed down in alarm and clutched at his heart. "You almost gave me a heart attack!"

"Sorry!"

"You can't just sneak up on a bloke like that! I could have fallen."

"I didn't mean to frighten you!"

"I wasn't _frightened_. I was…. _Surprised!"_

"Alright! I didn't mean to surprise you…"

It took him a moment to calm down, holding a hand to his chest and taking a few calming breaths.

She stared at him, and even from that far away, she could see that his soft grey eyes were reflecting the swirling colors of the sunset.

"What?" He called, hands dropping to his sides. She didn't respond, she just stared.

He was truly a sight to behold with the wind whipping his perfectly tousled hair and the front of his shirt billowing like a sail, giving her teasing glimpses of his porcelain skin beneath. He was so beautiful that it took her breath away. If she weren't so dumbstruck, she would have had the idea to ask if he was cold.

It was then she realized that they had been staring wordlessly at one another for much too long.

"What were you doing?" She called again, not sure what else to say. They had so much to discuss, this seemed like a good enough place to start as any.

He shrugged and scratched at the back of his neck.

"I don't know. I suppose it kind of feels like you're flying when you do that. We're going so bloody fast."

"Can I… try?" She asked, and he blinked in surprise.

"I mean, if you don't mind looking like a knob head," he said humorously, motioning for her to join him.

Hermione smiled timidly as she neared closer to him. He cleared the way for her to approach the guardrail.

"Give me your hand," he murmured and reached out.

Hermione gazed at him and placed her gloved fingers in his outstretched hand.

"Grab hold here. Put your foot on the first rung, and then your other foot there," he directed her as she gingerly made her way into the same position she had found him in.

"It's a little frightening," she commented, trying to keep her body from shaking. The last time she had been up on these guardrails, she had almost plummeted to her death.

He maneuvered himself until he was up behind her, wrapping his free hand of his around her waist. Whether it was to support her or to intentionally send chills up and down her spine, she didn't know.

"Do you trust me?" He whispered in her ear, and her knees weakened.

"Yes," she whispered, and much to her shock, she realized it was true. "I trust you."

In response to her admission, she could feel him press more firmly into her. It was just like their first night together, but this time she was sober, which only made it that much more delicious.

She allowed him to take both of her hands in his in the most delicate hold she had ever experienced. He slowly brought them out until her arms were outstretched, as if they were wings ready to take hold of the wind and sail them both into the air.

"It.. it is like flying!" She cried, unable to keep the smile from engulfing her face.

"I told you," he rolled off. "You think a Malfoy would lie?"

"Yes," she said.

"... Fair enough."

They stood like that for a few more moments, revering in the unending expanse of sky and ocean that stretched out before them. Hermione had never experienced anything quite like this. It was… magical. She was so happy he hadn't stolen away on a lifeboat with his friends.

"You're still here," she said suddenly, having to turn her head until they were facing one another in order to be heard over the wind. It wasn't quite a question, it was closer to a spoken revery.

"You were right," he said in her ear, and it took Hermione a moment to register what she was hearing. "I was being selfish."

Hermione stood in shock and she dimly wondered if she was hearing him wrong. What was he saying?

"I'm sorry," he said, pulling her arms back and wrapping their intertwined hands around her in an embrace, "about giving you bruises, and... everything else."

She wanted to pinch herself. Surely she must have been in some sort of dream.

"I didn't want to admit it," he said, voice thick with regret, "but you've been right this whole time. About muggles, I mean. I wanted to believe it would be just as easy to let them all die and save myself. I thought if I could convince myself I didn't care about them, or if they were- I don't know- worth less than me, it wouldn't hurt so much if they all-"

He seemed unable to finish the sentence.

"Draco..."

"If we didn't succeed, I mean…" he paused to collect his thoughts. Hermione could tell how hard he was working to put aside his pride to tell her all of these things.

"...What I'm trying to say is that I'm with you, Hermione." He finished.

With those words, she couldn't stop herself, she turned her head until they were gazing at one another. It was then that Hermione leaned into him and initiated their second kiss.

Silence. The world disappeared. There was no ship. There was no iceberg. There were no Hogwarts houses or blood rights. Existence had been resident until it was simply Draco and Hermione.

Merlin, how were his lips so soft?

She realized that this kiss was even more heavenly than their first. How was that even possible? It had been the most blissful shared moment she had been a part of, yet this was a hundred times better.

The weight of their relationship's massive change occurred to her then: they had a clean slate. Gone was the guilt of not telling him the truth. the anxiety and fear no longer choked her, and she could finally breathe. The fear that she was falling for an actual death eater dissipated, like a dark cloud after a storm.

He enveloped her tightly, deepening the kiss until she could no longer tell where she ended and Draco began.

Like all beautiful moments do, the kiss had to come to an end. They broke apart, staring at one another, both powerless in the face of the thing that had swept them up and consumed them in its timeless dance. She felt it. And she knew that he felt it, too. Had it really only been a few days since they had dropped into the pensieve? It felt as though two years had passed by, and that they were completely different people now than they had been going in.

They both had to pause to catch their breath. Hermione couldn't help the massive smile that took over her face; She was so happy. She realized distantly that she had literally never been happier... Not when Gryffindor won the house cup. Not when she received her Hogwarts acceptance letter. Not when Krum had pulled her aside and expressed his feelings for her.

Despite all that she had gone through on this ship and despite all that she would go through in the hours to come... this moment alone made it worth it.

"What?" He asked, searching her face. She just shook her head and continued to smile, not wanting to jinx the moment. He couldn't help but laugh at her silly expression, and soon he was grinning along with her. She would never get used to the way his expressions seemed to transform his facial features.

And when he smiled— Merlin— he was brighter than the sun itself.


	15. Chapter 15

"I should get back," Hermione said, pulling away from their heavenly embrace and moving to clamber down the guardrail. She shook herself, painfully aware of the sun dipping lower and lower in the sky. Soon it would be engulfed by the endless ocean, signaling the final 24 hours of their journey. She swallowed, the warmth of her kiss with Draco being chilled by her fear.

"Stay with me tonight," Draco said.

"I can't," she whispered, "they would end up looking for me."

"You can't go back to them," he insisted, "it isn't safe."  
"I don't want to, but they'll send someone, Draco. Your cabin will be the first place they'll come to," she said again, pulling out of his arms.

"Have Lottie cover for you. She can do that, right?" He pushed, holding onto her hands. It seemed as though he _really_ didn't want to let her go.

Hermione gave him a skeptical look. "It won't work a second time. Horace is going to be angry after the stunt we pulled this morning, so he'll be even more attentive."

"Which is all the reason why you should stay," he stressed.

"I'll be fine," she said, trying harder to convince herself than him. Even the mere thought of being face to face with that horrible man sent a frightening chill down her spine.

"I don't like it, Granger." He crossed his arms.

"I don't care what you like, _Malfoy,"_ she said, throwing his last name back at him. "How do I know this isn't some big ruse to get me into your cabin?"

"For Salazar's sake! Who do you think I am?!" He gaped, "I'm not going to ravish you the second we're alone. I'm a gentleman."

Hermione's mouth went dry, and she distantly wondered if that was exactly what she wanted. How on earth was she having such thoughts? Never in her life had she considered going beyond curious kisses and soft eyes with any of the boys she had been intertwined with… and yet now, a mission to complete and certain doom ahead, she was considering _that_ side of a relationship...

Her face warmed as she realized what she had been thinking about. As if being able to read her salacious thoughts, he grinned at her.

"That is, unless it's what you want."

She gasped and he winked.

"Oh, Merlin. We are not having this conversation right now," she scoffed, whirling on her heel and leaving him at the stern.

"Come on, Granger. I was just taking the piss out of you!" He laughed, following after her.

"Now isn't the time for jokes!"

"Alright. Alright! I'll be completely serious."

He ran ahead of her and spun around, effectively blocking her path.

"Malfoy," she said in a warning tone, halting in her tracks.

"Hermione," he said, grey eyes shining, "I'm just nervous… There's a lot going on in my head right now. I'm... sorry if my mouth gets ahead of me."

He took her hand in his own. He squeezed it. She looked from his face down to their linked fingers.

"Okay," she said, "this is really unexpected. But we have a mission. We have to focus."

"Right." He nodded.

"I'll meet you after dinner. I'll try to convince Lottie to cover for me and sneak out."

"We can meet in the smoking lounge… but try to wear something less..." he ran his fingers along the intricate lace of her sleeve, "...stunning."

"I don't know if Annabelle owns anything like that, but I'll look," she agreed. It would be smart to avoid any sort of unwanted attention from then on out. "It's kind of a shame. I liked feeling so beautiful."

"You'd be beautiful in a rubbish bag," Draco rolled off, and Hermione's heart hopped into her throat.

"You think I'm beautiful?" She whispered, dumb struck. Of course she had seen his lingering gazes and had felt the magnetism in their kisses, but to hear it with her own two ears was something else. All of those years. All of the snide comments about her appearance. Never in a million years could she have dreamt of something so kind coming from her long-time nemesis.

"You think I'd snog someone who wasn't beautiful?" He grinned, pulling her closer with their intertwined hands. He dipped his head until their lips were inches apart, and she could see his mouth turn up in a smile.

"Draco," she whispered breathlessly, "I have to go."

"One more."

Pushing down her inhibitions, she closed the space between them in their third kiss. As his lips pressed softly into her own, warmth raced through her limbs and curled her toes. In the back of her head, she wondered if every kiss with him would just get better and better. She never knew it could be like this. Is this why all of those girls would spend hours fawning over their boyfriends in the common room? Why they would steal kisses at any chance they could?

She pulled away, quite literally swooning. She wished she didn't have to go back. She wished she could run off with him and ignore everything else, but they didn't have time.

"Okay," she said, smiling and moving to step around him. She neared the stairs to the first-class decks, blushing and biting her lip. Merlin, that was so good.

"Hermione," he said as she took her first step upward, she paused and looked over her shoulder.

"What?"

"That offer still stands," he said mischievously.

"Steady on, now," she admonished, but as she made her way back to the first-class Dining quarters she didn't even try to fight the smile that consumed her face.

. . .

Draco Malfoy couldn't believe it. He was flying. He was positively, absolutely, soaring. He watched as Hermione retreated back up the stairs. His heart sighed when she gave him one last smile over her shoulder before disappearing from view. Hermione Granger smiled at _him._ Kissed _him._ Chose _him._

Sure, she hadn't ended up escaping with him, but this was good too. It was bloody brilliant, even.

His joy overwhelmed him until he hopped into the air, jamming a fist victoriously into the sky, unable to keep the smile from his face. He ran back toward the third class quarters, dipping and dodging through the passengers moseying their way to supper.

Sure, he was facing down a horrible night that could certainly spell out his doom, but it had been _his_ choice.

His Mother and Father would be terribly disappointed in him. Good.

He could have escaped. He almost did, but he chose not to. And subsequently, she had accepted him. Is this what it felt like to be brave? To choose others before himself? No wonder why Gryffindors had been so bloody selfless all of these years.

He had put aside his pride and apologized, and in exchange, he got the girl.

 _The_ girl. The brightest witch of their age. Best friend of the chosen one.

It felt fantastic.

He weaved his way through the maze of corridors until he neared the mess hall. He paused at the foot of the wooden stairs, scanning the poorly lit, smokey space until he spotted his friends at the end table to his left.

He grinned, thinking of their reactions to the good news. _Hermione chose me._

"Hey," he said, plopping down next to Hamish, who visibly stiffened. "What's on the menu tonight? Yesterday's stale bread?"

No answer. Hamish's spoonful of soup hovered before him, suspended in midair.

Sam's brown eyes flipped from Draco's face to Tommy and back. His mouth opened like he was going to say something, but it closed without a word.

"What?" Draco asked, looking from Sam to Tommy, who glared daggers back at him. Draco's heart sank. _Oh._ He had somehow forgotten how he had left things with the two men.

He had been flying so high from his evening with Hermione that the fact that he had attacked Tommy earlier in the day had completely slipped from his mind.

"I've suddenly lost my bloody appetite," Tommy grumbled, throwing down his fork. It clattered loudly against his plate. Hamish and Sam flinched in their seats and the Irish man pulled himself up from his spot,

Tommy gave Draco one last withering look before turning on his heel and retreating.

A flashback to the moment his vision had bled red until he had his fists tangled in Tommy's vest, pulling his curly-haired friend towards him. His raving words came back to him, echoing about in his skull: _"Fuck you! I'm trying to save your life you prick!"_

No. _No no no!_ How could he let himself panic like that? How could he have such an outburst? And moreover, how could he have forgotten about it?

"So…" Sam said, the air thick with tension. He dragged his gaze from Tommy's retreating form to the table. He stared at it as if the twirl of the grain was the most interesting thing he had ever seen in his young American life. He couldn't even look Draco in the eye, which made the wizard despair. "You seem to be- uh… feeling better?"

"Look, before- I hadn't slept," Draco tried to rationalize, "I was just irritated, and- and -paranoid."

"You were screaming," Sam whispered, eyes darting about for any eavesdroppers, "about the ship going down. About everyone _dying._ "

"It was a joke," he said, forcing a laugh. "I didn't mean to freak you out."

"Is it true yeh attacked Tommy?" Hamish's bass voice interrupted him, and Draco looked to find the Scottish man gazing down at him in distrust and disappointment. "That you shoved him and shouted at him?"

"Well, yes, but-"

"How could yeh?" Hamish asked, red eyebrows furrowed, "I swore to yer mum that I would keep yeh out of trouble, but you seem to go searchin' for it."

"Well, he called me crazy!" Draco snapped.

"Do you blame him?" Nick hissed in a tone harsher than what Draco could have imagined the American boy was capable of. "You said we would die. You said Hermione could see the future."

He finally looked the Slytherin in the eyes, his own gaze an even mix of disgust and fear.

"For the love of God, you said you weren't even named Nicholas. You said your real name was Draco."

Oh, he _had_ said that, hadn't he?

"Isn't that what Lottie had called yeh?" Hamish asked, and Draco felt the barrage of questions battering him at all sides. His lie was unraveling, and it was no one's fault but his own.

"Alright, alright! Look, I can explain everything," he said, holding up his hands in surrender. The two men looked at him with raised brows and expectant eyes. He released a shaky breath. "Well, not everything."

"I'm not hungry anymore either," Sam said, shaking his head and swinging his legs over the bench. "I'll see you later, Hamish."

Draco watched the American man leave with a hardened lump in his stomach. Had he really ruined two of the only real, genuine friendships that had ever had in one smoke break just because he couldn't control his temper? How could he have let himself lose control like that?

"You aren't Nicholas," Hamish said, his bass voice cutting through his inner turmoil.

"What?" His heart skipped a beat.

"You aren't the same Nicholas that left Edinburgh with me," he clarified, staring hard at Draco. "Who are you?"

"I-I don't know what you mean. I'm Nicholas."

"You may look like Nicholas, but I don't know you," Hamish continued, voice gravelly with sadness.

"Now who's the bloke who sounds mad?" Draco said, trying to lighten the mood. "Come on, Hamish. You know me."

"Maybe," he said, taking the last swig of his beer before setting it down with a final thud, "but I don't know if I want to anymore."

Before the large man could leave him, too, Draco clutched onto his sleeve. Hamish froze, looking down expectantly at the young Wizard.

"Wait, okay. Okay!" He cried, looking around before saying, "I'll tell you the truth…"

He swallowed. Hamish raised a single red eyebrow.

"...The _real_ truth."

. . .

It was with a punch to her stomach that Hermione realized that Horace was back. And by the looks of him, he wasn't happy; The young witch's path to the first-class dining hall was blocked by the towering man. His frame seemed to fill the elegant french doors, blocking the light and even the lilting tune the string quartet was playing. He glared down at her with black eyes, his scar looking even more mangled and raw than it usually did.

"Hello, Horace," she said, hoping that she sounded light and airy. She stood on trembling legs, praying that he couldn't see the minute tremors. "I missed you today. You were gone quite long, it seems."

"Don't be cute with me, girl," he growled, "I know where you've been."

"On a walk? Alert the presses," she rolled off, heart pounding in her ears. She firmly reminded herself where they were and the safeguards of being in a public space, "excuse me, Mother is expecting me at supper."

"You were with him," he accused, glowering down at her.

"Who?"

"The steerage rat, the one Martha told you to stay away from."

"That's quite an accusation. Do you have proof?" She asked, clenching her fists.

He raised his hand. She flinched away, bracing herself for a blow to the face. She was surprised when she felt his calloused thumb graze the bottom of her lip and the top of her chin. A disgusted shiver coursed through her at the physical contact, but she opened her eyes to find him investigating a red smudge on the pad of his thumb. "You've soiled your pretty lipstick."

She gaped at him, realizing that she must have smudged her makeup when kissing Draco. A grave, foolish mistake.

"That- that's not-"

"Save it," he hissed, dropping his hand down, "I know you're nothing more than a desperate rat-loving whore."

She couldn't help the gasp that escaped her lips. He was saying such cruel things within earshot of a few servants milling about. They glanced up in shock. Certainly they could step in if things went awry, like the kind serving boy who punched Draco when he accosted her the decks their first day aboard the ship. They wouldn't sit by as she was threatened and abused…. Would they?

"From now on, there will be no more funny business. No more secret meetings. No more sneaking away. If you put even one toe out of line your mother will know everything," he growled, "do you understand me?"

Her fingers twitched instinctively, as if ready to reach for her wand to curse him into the next century. Once again, she realized that she was quite literally defenseless without her wand.

"You can't threaten me anymore," she whispered, her voice trembling, "Mr. Andrew's knows-"

"Thomas Andrews is a dumb cunt who has no power outside of this bloody ship," he cut her off, stalking closer to her. "The second you step one foot off of the Titanic, you're _mine_ , Annabelle."

She stepped back, swallowing hard.

"I won't let you out of my sight again," He told her. "Every second I'll be right behind you. I'll always be watching… and if you had half a brain, you would heed this warning."

She quickly sidestepped him and stumbled by, half expecting him to grab onto her. He let her pass, thankfully. She entered into the restaurant, sick with nausea. She navigated through the dozens of tables full of chattering first-class folks with foggy vision. She prayed they were at their usual spot, because she couldn't tell who was who through her tears. She willed them not to spill over. It would only make things uglier.

"Annabelle, dear!" She heard Molly Brown's voice to her left, "I was wondering when you'd return from grabbing your gloves."

Hermione turned towards the sound of the woman, braving a smile. She neared the table and blinked to clear her sight. Sure enough, there was the same vapid group she had grown to recognize. They stared at her, smiling from their places. She could tell they weren't actually happy to see her. It was all a ploy. It was all bloody fake.

"Yes," she said, "thank you for letting them know where I went, Molly. I hope I didn't worry you all disappearing like that."

"Ah, don't worry about it, darlin'!" She laughed, "we all know how cold these winter nights can be."

Murmurs of agreement floated up from the table.

"Sit down, Annabelle," Martha's voice cut through the din of the dining hall. "The first course has already arrived. I had to send yours back."

"It's alright," she said, stomach churning unpleasantly as she sensed Horace's burning gaze from the side of the room, "I'm not hungry."

. . .

Draco clutched at the guardrails, mind churning as roughly as the ocean below him. Before he began to speak, he had to think through the ways to explain his situation without sounding insane. He had bloody blown it the last time he had tried to warn them about the fate of the Titanic, this time he had to tread carefully. A lot was on the line.

"Are yeh goin' to tell me or not?" Hamish asked, staring expectantly down. Draco nodded.

"You're right," he began, "about me… not being the same Nicholas you left Edinburgh with."

Hamish furrowed his eyebrows, lips pressed into a tight, concerned line.

"I'm not Nicholas at all… And this is going to sound insane, but I really really need you to try and believe me" he whispered, the truth puffing out with clouds of vapor against the inky black sky.

The Scottish man stared at him, waiting for him to continue. Everything inside of Draco screamed at him to stop. To backtrack. He had lost Tommy and Sam, and he would only lose Hamish too.

After taking a deep breath to steel himself, he dug his hands in his coat pocket. "My real name is Draco Malfoy, and I'm from the future."

To the young wizard's shock, Hamish laughed. It was a disbelieving boom of a chuckle.

"I'm serious. I don't sound like I'm from Scotland because I'm _not,_ " he stressed, pushing forward, "I'm from London. You know I haven't been talking like I normally do since we boarded!"

That seemed to quiet the large man, his chuckles dying down as he absorbed what his companion was saying.

"You said so yourself. It's because I'm _not Nick_."

Hamish seemed to be realizing that the words coming from the Slytherin boy rang with a strange, distant sort of truth. The kind of truth that only made sense when you stepped back far enough to see the big picture, like an impressionist painting.

"I told them that the ship was going to sink," he said and paused. He licked his lips, and gripped at the railing, "because it is. Hermione saw it."

"Because Hermione is from the future too?" Hamish asked, an angry edge to his voice, "I thought you were going to tell me the _truth,_ Nick."

"Didn't Lottie tell you? She knows Hermione as _Annabelle,"_ he stressed, "Hamish… You know that things don't line up. I know her as Hermione. She knows her as Anabelle… and why would a first-class girl choose _me_ of all people?"

"You saved her," he said, "you were there to keep her from falling overboard."

"She wasn't slipping over on accident. She was choosing to jump to try and get back to our time," he tried to explain, "we're school mates. We were back in our time when we fell into a- um… a portal."

"A portal?"

"Like a magical gateway to the past," he said, trying his best to explain such an outlandish concept to a laboring muggle from the turn of the century, "We're from the year 2000."

Silence. Draco looked up at his friend, who looked to the moon. He shoved his meaty fists into his trouser pockets. A few more moments passed as he tried to digest what his friend was telling him.

"This is just embarassin' Nick," Hamish said finally. "I can't believe you would try to fool me, too."

"Why would I try and fool you?" He snapped, throwing his hands in the air. "What could I possibly have to gain by telling you these things? I know I sound bloody insane, alright?! I've already lost Sam and Tommy to the truth! Why would I do this on purpose? Why would I ruin the only real friendships I've ever had for no reason?"

"I don't know! That's what lunatics do! They lie."

"Please don't say that," he said, shaking his head as a stab of pain coursed through him, "not you, too."

"Yeh can't expect me to believe this," he snapped back, "I may not be a very smart man, but I'm not a fool."

"I don't think you're a fool," Draco pleaded, "I'm just trying to save everyone. Look, tomorrow night we'll strike an iceberg and within _three hours_ this entire ship will be on the bottom of the ocean. I don't want to watch you all die."

"Can yeh prove anythin'?" Hamish asked, shrugging, "can yeh prove that yer from the future? Can yeh explain how the gateway worked? What kind of school yeh went teh?"

"I told you, it was magical," he stressed, "we're from the Wizarding world."

"Alright then," Hamish said, pulling his hands from his pockets and motioning, "do some magic."

"That isn't how it works."

"What, yeh need _a magic wand_ , do yeh _?_ " He asked mockingly.

"Well, yes-" the Slytherin stammered.

"That's it." Hamish said and shook his head. "I'm done."

Draco watched him throw his hands in the air and turn on his heel, his stomach tying itself into even tighter into knots.

"You _know_ things aren't adding up, Hamish!" He pleaded to his retreating form, "I don't think you're a fool! I know you're smart!"

Hamish didn't stop.

"I know you've noticed all of the little hints. You _know_ I'm not Nick. You sensed it!" He said, "When you see Lottie again, _ask her_ how Anabelle has changed since she boarded this ship. The proof is right in front of you."

The Scottish man disappeared behind the iron door, shutting it with a loud _clang_ that Draco believed could have woken the entire ship. With a heavy heart and lump in his throat, he wondered distantly if Hermione was having any better luck than he was.

. . .

"No." Lottie whispered as she pulled Annabelle's decorative comforter down and fluffed her pillows. "I won't. Not again."

"Please, Lottie." Hermione pleaded. "I promise this will be the last time."

"Nicholas is a bad man, Anna," her maid snapped, throwing the decorative pillows into the nearest wicker basket, "you shouldn't see him again."

"I need to!" She hissed.

"No! What you need to do is to get into your nightgown and climb into bed," Lottie snapped, voice full of authority. "I won't keep enabling your destructive behavior. You're going to get us _both_ into trouble."

"Please, Lottie," Hermione pleaded, "I know this seems dangerous…"

"Seems?!" Lottie whisper-cried, "it _is_ and I both know what he's capable of."

"He won't hurt me again," Hermione stated, lying to herself and to her friend, "Thomas knows that he's a dangerous man, one more strike and he'll be in real trouble."

"And what about once we dock?" Lottie asked, throwing her hands into the air, "Mr. Andrews can't protect you forever."

A pounding knock came at the door. The two girls jumped at the sound. They looked to the door, as if expecting it to burst open from its hinges at any moment.

"W-who is it?!" Hermione called, already knowing the answer.

"What are you two whispering about in there?" Horace called back, "if you don't stop I'm going to come in."

"You musn't!" Lottie called, chest heaving in panic. She looked to Hermione, eyes wild, "sh-she's indecent! You must wait until she's dressed!"

"You have five minutes, and then I'm coming in there," he said from behind the oak door,

and Hermione knew that his threat of following her around 24/7 was true. He really wouldn't let her out of his sight.

"Please, Lottie," Hermione clasped her hands in front of her.  
"Anna! No!" She whispered. "He's a liar. There's something off about him."

"He isn't!" she stressed back, "I know he seems strange, and a little cold and unpleasant sometimes… but I really _really_ like him. I trust him."

"Stop asking," Lottie snapped, "I'm done saying yes to you."

"Either you help me, or I'll do it without you," Hermione stated, straightening up and jutting her chin proudly into the air. "You can't stop me."

Lottie breathed a heavy sigh, crossing her arms in front of her. She glared at the witch across the bed.

"You can either help me so that I don't get caught, or you can watch me get into more trouble," Hermione challenged. She knew it was a low blow, but desperate times called for desperate measures. "That first night? The night Nicholas saved me? I wasn't going to _slip._ I was going to _jump."_

Lottie's arms dropped to her side, her mouth agape.

"Anna…"  
"I don't have anything to lose. I don't care if I get hurt," she whispered, "this life? This isn't a life I'm willing to live. I'm going to escape one way or another."

The two girls stared at one another, heartbreak and anxiety swirling about the air between them.

"Please, Lottie," she whispered one final time, "... please."

. . .

"I'm coming in!" Horace announced, but before he could barge in, Lottie opened the door gingerly.

"Good evening, Horace," She quipped, motioning to Hermione, who sat up in bed, arms crossed stubbornly in front of her chest, "she's all tucked in and ready for bed."

Horace seemed to be taken aback, and he entered the room, looking around as if to search for some sort of trick. "Yes... Well, good."

"Are you sure you want to watch her _all night?"_ Lottie asked, clasping her hands behind her back, "forgive me if it isn't my place to say, but it doesn't seem proper for a man to be in a girl of marriageable age's quarters all night long."

"He has my permission," a harsh voice came from the door. Martha stood, glaring down her daughter. "Annabelle has gotten into far too much trouble on this journey to be left unsupervised."

"I understand, Madame," Lottie said obediently, curtseying. "May I retire to my quarters?"

"You are dismissed," Martha said disinterestedly.

"Sleep well, Annabelle," the maid said, fluffing Hermione's pillow one last time. "I will be here once you wake."  
Hermione didn't say anything, she simply glared into empty space. Lottie sighed and left her cabin sparing one final glance over her shoulder.

"Get some rest," her mother said, "you'll need your energy for tomorrow."

"That's truer than you know," Hermione mumbled beneath her breath.

"What was that?"

"Nothing! Goodnight, mother," Hermione said, pulling her covers up and over her shoulders and she nestled on her side.

Without another word, her mother clicked the door shut, leaving her alone with the older manservant. After a few moments, she realized just how small the room was. The din of his breathing unnerved her, and it sounded as though he was a mere two feet from her.

"Can you turn that light off?" She asked, pulling the blanket over her head. "It's too bright."

"Not a chance in hell," he said.

"Being a little paranoid, aren't you?"

"You can't fool me again."

She didn't say anything, she just settled in. She focused on steadying her breathing, and began counting. How long would it take her mother to settle into bed? How long should it take Lottie to get all the way to her servant's quarters? She settled on half an hour. That was only about 1800 seconds. She could count that high. It would settle her nerves.

She closed her eyes. She focused on the creak of her bruised ribs as she began her countdown.

She could hear him flipping the pages of a book behind her from his spot in the corner of her room. Was he sitting or standing? Surely he was sitting. Not even he could stand all night. He was a man, after all.

It was what she was banking on.

After what felt like an eternity, she reached one thousands seconds. Bloody hell. That was enough time.

She shifted uncomfortably beneath her sheets, groaning. She rubbed at her stomach, curling tighter into herself.

"What's wrong with you?" He grumbled, "be quiet. Go to sleep."  
She sat up in bed, as if suddenly realizing something.

"What is it?" He barked impatiently.

"I just…" she whispered, hoping her face was turning pink. "I just, um-"

"Spit it out, girl."

"I can't…"

"Then go back to sleep," he ordered, turning his attention back to his leather-back novel.

"I think I've started- um," she hesitated, looking at the ceiling, "my monthly… time."

Silence. He shifted in his chair, the wood creaking unpleasantly beneath his weight.

"What? Right now?"

"I was having cramps all day, but I didn't think I'd bleed for at least another-"

"Alright, that's enough." He held up his hand, his typically ashy skin turning red.

"I have to change…"

"Then do it."

"I need some privacy," she whispered. "This isn't for a decent man's eyes."

"I'm not leaving."

"I'll bleed on the bed," Hermione said. Crossing her arms, "do you want to explain to my mother why you made me bleed on her Egyptian cotton?"

"Then so be it," he said stubbornly, burying his face into his book. Hermione was taken aback, she surely thought this would work.

"Fine!" She snapped, throwing her comforter off and swinging her legs around. She stood up and began to pull her undergarments down from inside her nightgown, she prayed to every god in the heavens that this would work, otherwise she'd really be in a predicament, "Then you won't mind taking these soiled undergarments-"  
"Okay!" He cried, standing up and whirling around, and she could have melted in relief, "Fine! You have five minutes, but I will be right outside of the door."

"It may take more…" she said, "it can be quite messy-"

"Ten minutes and that's _it!"_ He snapped, crossing the room with his gaze averted.

She sighed in relief once he closed the door, and she silently thanked whatever deity had implanted the irrational fear of periods into every man in existence.

With quiet feet, she crossed the room until she was at the same window Draco had dropped into earlier that day. She unlocked it and gently pulled it open, praying that Horace couldn't hear anything.

"Lottie?" She quietly called into the frozen night air.

"I'm here," the feminine whisper floated back to her. Lottie's head popped into vision.

"Thank Merlin," Hermione whispered, "hurry, climb in."

"You don't have to tell me twice," she whispered, teeth chattering, "it's freezing out here, Anna."

"I'm sorry."

"Why did I say yes to this again?" the maid grumbled, trying to gain a steady hold on the iron frame of the window.

"Sorry," Hermione said again, "but it's necessary."

The young witch gripped her friend's uniform and hoisted her through the porthole. They both grunted from the exertion it took to halt her descent before she crumbled atop the desk in the same way Draco had earlier that day. Once the maid had teetered down, landing lightly atop the carpet, she straightened her apron and gave Hermione an incredulous look that said: _"I can't believe you just made me do that."_

"Quick, get undressed," Hermione quietly ordered, already pulling her nightgown over her head. There was no time for modesty. Horace could burst in at any second.

"Right here?" Lottie squeaked, embarrassed.

"There's no time!" She stressed again, tossing her nightgown on the bed. "I'll help you unlace."

"Okay," she sighed. She freed herself from her apron while kicking off her sensible flats. "You owe me."

Once the two girls we're dawned in the other's clothes, Lottie hastily tied up the final section of lace on the back of the uniform.

"Hurry! Hurry!" Hermione cried, glancing nervously at the door. It had been at least 5 minutes, he'd come knocking any moment.

"I'm going as fast as I can," Lottie hissed, working the lace with nimble fingers. "Don't forget the shoes!"

Hermione stooped down and jammed her feet into the flats. She must have worn a size larger than Lottie, as evident by her pinched toes, but she didn't have the luxury of time to find shoes that fit properly.

"Done!" Lottie said, bending down and scooping up the discarded white, lace apron to pull over Hermione's head.

A knock came at the door, the two girls jumped.

"Alright, you've had enough time." Horace's muffled voice.

"J-just a moment! I'm almost done."

"Oh dear," Lottie whimpered from behind her.

"I've got this! quick, get under the covers," Hermione said and brought her hands behind to tie the strings together on her own. Lottie obeyed, tiptoeing to the bed and slipping quickly under the fluffy, white covers.

"Don't talk unless you have to. Keep your head covered." Hermione warned, heading to the porthole. On a second thought, she turned around and clasped her hands in front of her. "Thank you so much. I'll be back."

"Okay," Lottie whispered, voice dripping with fear. Her blue eyes were shining with desperation as she watched the witch climb atop the desk. "Please come back as quickly as you can."

Hermione's heart squeezed. She hated that she had to do this, but she didn't have a choice. Hundreds of innocent lives were at stake. She swallowed and said, "I promise I'll be back soon, and then I won't ever leave you alone with him again." She opened the porthole and slipped off into the frozen Atlantic night, praying to whatever God that might be listening to keep her sweet friend safe.

* * *

 _A/n: Hi guys, sorry for the 4 month hiatus. I don't want to bore you with my dumb nonsense, but I've found it difficult to bring myself to post these chapters, as both of my editors & friends have become too busy - or most likely just disinterested- to edit my work. So I have to post it with only one person's input: me... And I'm not a great editor, so please forgive any mistakes you may find from here on out. _

_And also, to be honest, it's challenging for me to write a story that I love so much, but no one else, save a few of you wonderful humans, seems to care for._

 _I've had fanfics I've put much less effort, time & thought into that have taken off in ways that I never thought possible. (that Naruto fanfic AU I wrote in HS? Ugh, it still gets reviews and I can't help but cringe.) _

_I know that all that truly matters is that I enjoy writing it, but part of my joy comes from sharing it with you. With readers. What good is a story without anyone to witness it? Without an audience Romeo and Juliet would have just been names on a page, destined to be nothing but dust._

 _I shouldn't compare myself to Shakespeare, and I'm def not trying to. I'm just a dumb bitch grown-up who can't seem to let writing Fanfiction go. It's not deep. I know… I just care a lot._

 _I love this story. I love this premise. And I LOVE these fucking characters. I want to finish this thing out, even if I'm the only one who wants it. It's probably just stubbornness at this point, or maybe I still hold onto a foolish hope that someday the fandom will recognize that this fic has merit, too._

 _Thank you to those of you kind strangers who have reached across this void of a planet to give me kind, encouraging words. They have taken me farther than I ever would have gotten without them. I will keep going._


	16. Chapter 16

Draco paced back and forth in the third class smoking decks, glancing nervously around. He had spent the first part of the night fretting about his conversation with Hamish, but as the minutes ticked by and Hermione was nowhere to be seen, his despair took a backseat to paranoia. Where on earth was she? He was certain they had agreed to meet there. He pulled his flimsy wool coat tighter around himself and trembled in the frozen air. If this was how cold the air was, he couldn't even imagine how cold the water would be.

… _Will_ be. He thought darkly.

As the minutes ticked by he began to suspect that she had gotten caught by Horace. He had seen the additional bruises on her wrists. He had felt- first hand- her flinch away when he had touched her side, which had surely been bruised as well.

Draco Malfoy wasn't a fool. He didn't know for certain, but he had a very strong feeling that the older man had been hurting Hermione.

Physically.

The thought caused hot rage to flood through him, and he balled his hands into fists. It was clear to him then: she hadn't arrived yet because she was trapped by that bloody Butler. He could see it now: Horace blocking her exit, grabbing her wrist and-

 _Fuck that._ He wouldn't just sit by and imagine such a horrid scenario, he would go find her. He would beat the absolute shite out of that old man. He stormed up the stairs to the main decks, fear and anger pushing him forward.

He was in such an emotional state, he didn't even notice the maid heading his way. He was about to blow right past her when she placed a hand out to grab his forearm with a hissed: _"Draco, where are you going?"_

He halted in his spot, looking in alarm to the stranger who knew his real name. It wasn't until his vision focused on her that he realized it was Hermione Granger. Alive and safe and looking relatively unharmed. Her hair was astray and she had dark circles beneath her eyes, but she was such a welcome sight at that moment he could have swept her up in an embrace.

"Bloody hell! I didn't even recognize you," he remarked, taking her in. After a moment, he recognized the outfit as Lottie's uniform.

"I know," she mumbled, her face blooming a brilliant pink as she adjusted her black skirt, "I look frumpy, don't I?"

"I dunno, Granger," he quipped, mouth turning up into his famous grin, "I think it's kind of sexy."

She gasped and crossed her arms over her chest. "Malfoy, please."

He laughed, so relieved that she had made it to him safely that he couldn't help himself Not to mention, he thought, giving her another up-and-down, she did look bloody brilliant. He had said it before but he'd say it again: she'd look beautiful in a rubbage bag.

Before he had thought his attraction to her was born from nothing more than the elegant and flowing gowns she donned in this world; the way her brown curls were pinned delicately back, leaving her stunning, porcelain neck and collarbone on display. But as she stood before him in the utilitarian, bare-bones uniform, he realized that he was attracted to _her_. Plain and simple.

Realizing he was staring a little too long to be considered decent, he shook himself.

"It's bloody cold out," he said, rubbing his hands together, "let's go inside to talk."

She nodded wordlessly, face still warm from his salacious comments.

Once they were inside, he felt his frozen hands and feet begin to thaw. Hermione immediately took the lead, bringing him confidently through the corridors of the second class lobby. It was darkened and empty, save for a few staff passing through, probably running late-night errands. Draco wondered dimly how she knew where to go as she pulled him into a separate, bare corridor behind an unassuming, nondescript door. The small engraved sign above the doorway reading "Crew Only" signified that it was only intended for staff.

"Thank Merlin," she murmured to herself, "I was nervous I was turned around."

"Where are we going? How did you know this was here?"

"I'll explain in a moment," she whispered over her shoulder, bringing a finger up to her mouth in a shushing motion. She spun around and counted the doors as they passed by them, "303, 304, 305… here"

With hardly a warning, she pushed open the door to their right. Surprised, but quick on his feet, Draco followed her in and closed the door behind him.

Darkness swallowed them, and she tisked in annoyance.

"We have to find the light."

"Lumos," Draco whispered humorously as he cracked the door back open, letting a sliver of light from the hallway into the room.

"Har har har," She responded dryly next to him, "good one, Mr. No Wand."

"Hey, who's to say I couldn't do wandless magic?"

"Safely and reliably? Literally every wizarding textbook and historical scroll in existence," she rolled off, crossing to the center of the shadowed room. "You can't do wandless magic. Hardly anyone can."

"Great wizards have done it before," Draco grumbled, actually a little offended she thought he couldn't be one of the talented few.

She stood on tiptoes and clicked on the single lightbulb hanging above her. Light flooded the room, and Draco's eyes adjusted to find that they were in some sort of staff locker room. Not the kind for quidditch they had at Hogwarts, but the kind he knew his serving staff at the manor utilized before and after their shifts. He hadn't been inside it since he was a child and had spent hours running around the massive mansion, exploring every nook and cranny of every room.

"Yes!" she whispered triumphantly, crossing to the wall of wooden lockers to her left. There were no locks, so she was able to open them and sift through the contents inside to her pleasure.

"Are you going to explain to me what's happening?" Draco asked, dumbfounded. She shot a concerned look behind him.

"Once you close that door all the way, yes," she said and he rolled his eyes. They had barely seen a soul on their way here, but she was famously thorough. He pulled on the bronze handle until the door clicked shut quietly.

When he turned back around to ask her again, a pile of clothes flew across the space and landed squarely against his chest. He caught them reflexively. He gaped at her and down at the white linen in his arms.

"What on earth?"

"Put that on," she ordered distractedly, crossing to the other side of the room to open the cabinets.

"For Salazar's sake! Granger!" He snapped, dropping the uniform on the ground and crossing his arms. "Not until you fucking explain what you're doing."

"Language!" She snapped.

"I'm not Potter or Weasley! You can't drag me along to be the grunt while you're the brain behind everything," he barked, and she paused her rummaging to look over her shoulder. "I know you lot are used to wanking off on dangerous adventures and traipsing through death-ridden mazes, but I'm not. I don't rush blindly into things like you bloody Gryffindors."

Hermione turned around, arms dropping to her sides. She opened her mouth as if to snap back, but she seemed to think better of it.

"Fine. I'll explain everything…" she pointed to the pile of clothes at his feet, " while you put that on."

"I'll put it on," he relented, pulling off his jacket and tossing it on the bench next to him. He gave her a wink, "... but only if you watch."

She rolled her eyes as if she was unaffected by the perverse comment, but her blush gave her away. She turned around and continued searching through the utility closet.

Draco couldn't help but laugh as he pulled his ratty shirt up and over his head. It was cute how easily flustered she became. After a few more moments of rummaging through the locker, she gasped. He watched her pluck a set of keys from one of the hooks on the door.

"They're here!"

"Keys?"

She nodded as she dropped them into her apron pocket, still not turning around.

"So, are you going to explain why we need them? And how you knew where this room even was?" He asked as he unlaced his boots.

"Remember that fight we had? When I told you I was going to meet with Thomas Andrews and you told me you didn't want to join us?"

 _Oh right,_ he thought but didn't say anything.

"Right, well he brought along some blueprints. I was able to study them."

"You're telling me you glanced at some drawings and know how to navigate this bloody mess of a ship now?" Draco asked, incredulous.

"It wasn't difficult. I just asked about the rooms and areas I knew would come in handy," she dismissed him, "the hardest part was trying to pull information from him without seeming suspicious, then once I learned which room was what, it was easy to memorize."

"Easy my arse," he said, shaking his head and pulling down his trousers and kicking them to the side. "You've got an incredible memory."

She didn't say anything to him, but he could see the side of her face was flushed in pride. She busied herself by looking through every book and cranny of the closet.

"Okay," he said once he had pulled on the final garment to complete his transformation, "how do I look?"

She turned around and appraised him with a soft smile. "Quite official."

He adjusted the collar and tisked.

"I was hoping for handsome," he admitted.

She crossed over to him and replied, "I already told you that you're always handsome, remember?"

"Bold of you to assume I would ever forget a compliment," he said and smirked down at her. She stood on tiptoes and kissed his lips softly. He wanted to lean into it and savor it, but she pulled away much too quickly. She was No-nonsense Hermione Granger at the moment. She had a mission, and nothing could distract her.

"Right! Back to work!" She said. "The closet here doesn't have what we need."

"And what do we need? You never really told me."

"Let's walk and talk. The night is burning."

"What do I do with my clothes?"

"Just leave them in that locker, we'll be back before first shift begins."

Once they were back out in the hallway, stepping quickly and quietly down the sterile servant's corridor, she began to speak again.

"Okay: here's the plan," she said and he internally rejoiced— finally! "On the night the ship goes down, the majority of third class goes down with the ship. They never have a fighting chance for survival since they're locked up below."

"The curfew," Draco supplied from beside her, keeping in step as she surveyed the doors. "They close the gates."

"Right. And lock them." Hermione finished.

"They didn't unlock them so they could go above? That's right fucked."

"Language."

"That's proper fucked."

"Not what I meant."

"So you want to unlock the gates so they aren't trapped below?"

"We're going to more than just unlock them."

"Sabotage them?"

"Bingo," She said and turned sharply and abruptly down the corridor to her left, leaving him alone in the main hall.

He paused for a moment, eyebrows furrowed before he mumbled to himself: "What on earth is Bingo?"

He followed after her down the branching corridor, and it got narrower the further they went, the rumbling sounds of the engine growing stronger and stronger. They must have been near the boiler room.

Sure enough, at the end of the narrow hall, a rounded, iron door with a formidable-looking twist handle revealed itself. For a moment he thought she would try and twist it, but instead, she stopped just short of it and pulled open the wooden door next to it.

"Aha!" The Gryffindor cried in triumph as they set their eyes upon rows and rows of tools. Some he recognized from muggle studies: wrenches, hammers, and pliers. The rest was all steel nonsense to him, but she seemed to know what she was looking for.

"Could any of this be strong enough to cut through locks and chains?" Draco asked, incredulous.

She reached out and grabbed a massive set of bolt-cutters, and handed it to him. He grunted under the weight. It was unassumingly heavy.

"This should do it."

. . .

Hermione was impressed with how quickly Draco was able to keep up with her. She was also impressed by how he refused to just be carried along as a sidekick like Ronald or even Harry seemed to be most times. He was too smart for her to expect him to follow along blindly, and now she saw him in a new light. What she may have perceived as nosy or conniving before, she saw as sharp and intuitive now. Perhaps all these years she had simply been seeing him from the wrong angles.

And there they were: Hermione dawned in an inconspicuous maid's uniform, and Draco in a turn of the century White Star lines Uniform, sneaking around the belly of the Titanic to find the third class bunks, bolt cutters in tow. It was so bulky that it was challenging to keep it concealed between them. If anyone came across their path they would have a hard time explaining what they were doing with such a strange tool in the middle of the night.

She prayed to Merlin that no one would find them. They may have looked the part, and she vaguely knew her way around, but she wasn't naive enough to think that they could perform convincingly as two White Star Line employees to a real crew member.

Despite all of the anxieties in her head, the fact that she was doing anything at all after days of waiting around felt good. Even if they were enacting a smaller part of her plan tonight— she knew it was vital, and it could potentially save a thousand lives.

"Are you all right?" Draco asked from beside her as they kept up their quick stride to the third class corridors.

"Hm?" She hummed distractedly.

"You haven't spoken in ages."

"I'm just scared," she said after a moment, "scared of being caught. Scared of failing everyone."

He was quiet, and she knew he must have been scared too.

"It's just- I don't know... starting to feel real now. If we don't avoid it, the sinking will begin in 24 hours."

"What will that night look like? If we don't make it in time?"

She slowed to a stop and he slowed with her. She looked him in the eyes.

"Do you really want to know?" She asked. He nodded. "From all of the documentaries and remakes I've seen, it'll be hell on earth."

He swallowed.

"At first the ship will just dip below at the stern, they said you wouldn't even be able to tell it's sinking at all, but as the compartments fill, it will tip faster and faster. After the first and second class passengers are almost all evacuated, the ship will tilt into the sky. The last distress signal will be sent... then the power will go out."

She demonstrated on her arms, showcasing the severe angle.

"And then it will break in half. The pressure will be too much. It will sever in the middle, and the stern will go under completely."

She continued the demonstration on her arms, raised his eyebrows in alarm. Goosebumps raised on her skin as she realized the grim nature of describing the doom of such a massive vessel while standing aboard it.

"That's impossible."

"They found the wreckage in two pieces hundreds of miles away from one another. It confirms the eye witness testimony."

"And how long until the other part goes under?"

"Not long. It bobs for a few minutes at almost 90 degrees but slips under, too."

They stared at one another, both crushed beneath the impossible weight of their mission. After a few moments, Hermione took his hand- the one not holding the pliers- and pulled him along once more. They didn't have time to stop and ponder the possibilities of their failure. Too much was riding on them.

"Salazar help us," Draco breathed, looking pale.

"You can say that again," Hermione murmured.

. . .

The easy part of their mission was cutting the chain and pocketing the locks, or in certain cases in which the lock was embedded into the gate, Hermione would unlock it with the stolen key, and Draco would smash the daylights out of the latch jutting out from the interior of the lock. Even though it was physically taxing, the young Slytherin felt an instant wave of satisfaction every time the iron bent and snapped beneath the sturdy blades. Perhaps there was some sort of satisfaction to using muggle hardware and a little bit of elbow grease rather than waving a wand. The hardest part was trying to find every single gate among the hundreds of corridors. Whenever they thought they had made an impact, they would move along to the next corridor and come face to face with yet another gate. The young wizard sneered in disgust.

"Are these humans or deadly beasts?" He spat as he closed the plier's handles and snapped the chain. Hermione swiftly took the lock and placed it in her apron, which was beginning to droop under the weight of the dozens of locks. "This is just excessive."

"It's the way things were," Hermione said, heart sitting heavily inside the cavity of her chest. "Still are in some places."

"Where?"

"Well, the wizarding world for example. The way House-elves are treated is comparable."

"Don't be daft, House-elves love working."

"Is that why Dobby was so eager to abandon your family? Because he loved working for you so much?"

"Let's not compare Elves to Wizards. That's a completely different conversation. This is man against man."

"It's almost like being discriminated against for something you can't help is unfair. Like with wealth, status, race, or blood?"

"Alright," he murmured. "Point taken."

Hermione gave him a smug smile, and some part of him- the stubborn prideful part, wished he could take it back. Yes, he had learned his lesson on Muggles and Muggle-borns, but that didn't mean she could rub it in his face.

She shifted, the rattle and clamor of the locks ringing out.

"We've got to do something with these," Hermione whispered, looking down at the dozen or so locks. "We can't just carry them around all night. We already look suspicious, these just incriminate us more."

"Let's stash them somewhere," Draco said nonchalantly, slinging the heavy tool over his shoulder.

"For someone to find? Then they'll know people have been sabotaging White Star Line property."

"You're too paranoid, Granger."

"Oi!" A voice snapped from down the corridor, "what do you two think you're doin'?"

The witch and wizard jumped in fear, whirling around to face the intruder.

"Sir!" Hermione gasped. Draco looked at her in alarm, painfully aware of how bad they looked. As he approached them, he recognized the man's uniform. A white star line employee. Fuck.

A speechless moment passed, the balding man looking back and forth between them expectantly.

"Well? What do you think you're doing?"

"I- well, we.." Hermione began.

"I asked you a bloody question, girly!" He snapped, "out with it!"

"We're just doing our jobs, sir," Draco jumped in, voice hard. "There's no need to shout."

"Really? Your job is to sneak around at 4 AM with- well... whatever that is?" He said, motioning to the bolt cutters hiddenly clumsily behind Draco's back.

They glanced at one another, had they really been working for 5 hours?

"We have the early shift," the Slytherin lied smoothly, and he could feel Hermione shrink behind him, attempting to hide her bulging apron.

"Need I remind you that early shift does not begin until 5:30," the man said, looking them up and down with his beady eyes. "Why do you need that?"

"Oh, this? I just carry it around for fun," he quipped and Hermione jabbed him in the back.

"Maintenance! We're doing some emergency maintenance," she piped up from behind him. Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes, there's no way this man would believe that.

"What kind of maintenance?" The man asked, eyes narrowing as he studied her up and down. He must have noticed her different uniform because he followed up with: "You aren't one of mine. Who are you and who ordered you to do so at such an ungodly hour?"

"Thomas Andrews!" Hermione blurted, impressively quick on her toes, "I'm his personal maid. He awoke in the night in a cold sweat and ordered me to fetch help and replace the locks on all of the gates."

Draco looked down at her, eyebrow raised. What was she trying to do?

"Really?" The man drawled, voice thick with suspicion.

"I don't know if you've met Mr. Andrews," she continued, gaining confidence in her lie, "but he's a very, very diligent man. And he's also very superstitious. He had a nightmare that all of the locks were rotting and rusting away to dust, so he ordered me to replace them with new ones."

"You expect me to believe that?"

She stepped forward and opened her upturned apron, revealing the glimmering, brand new locks. "These are the new ones we are to replace the old ones with. He cares very deeply about this ship, and honestly is a bit neurotic. He needs everything to be in tip-top shape. I'm sure you understand."

"We're nearly finished," Draco said. "If you'd like us to stop while we're ahead I think you'll have to have a talk with Mr. Andrews."

The weasel of a man studied them both.

"Why are you helping her?"

"Well, you see, Sir… We get along quite well," he said and gave Hermione a wink before turning to the man with a knowing look.

"I see," he said, wrinkling his nose in displeasure, "well, make sure any leisure time is spent off-hours."

"Yes, sir," Hermione said quickly. "Sorry to have to borrow him, we'll be done very soon."

"I'll be double-checking this little story with Mr. Andrews, by the way."

"Please do." Draco said, and then added under his breath, "you'll be a popsicle before you get the chance."

Hermione dug her elbow into his side. He grunted in pain.

The man gave them one last cutting glance before shaking his head and turning on his heel. He strode down the corridor, probably off to torment the next poor servant. Once he turned the corner and dipped out of sight, Hermione turned to Draco.

"Still think I'm 'too paranoid?'" She asked, voice thick with irony.

"I can't believe he bought that," he mumbled, appraising her with a new light. "You're quite clever, aren't you?"

"Thank you," she beamed.

"You could have been a Slytherin."

"Well, let's not get carried away."

After they had made a quick dash about, double-checking that they had collected all of the locks they could, the two made their way above decks. That is, not before Draco stashed the handy bolt cutters below a wooden bench in the third class corridors. Perhaps if things still went to shite they could help someone.

Once they were above, they both took note at the dusky blue the sky was beginning to turn. The sun would rise soon, and they still had to return the uniform and get Hermione back into bed before Horace realized she was gone.

They ran to the side of the ship and peered down the hull. With a grunt, Hermione hoisted her apron and let the end of the material drop, subsequently releasing the locks into the rough ocean waves below.

"Will there be extras stored away somewhere?" Draco asked, wondering if all of that work had been for nothing and they would just be right back in place for tomorrow.

Hermione shook her head.

"I don't think so, maybe a few extra in case one or two break, but not that many. It'd be a waste of storage space."

"Glad we figured out a good way to destroy them," he grinned, thinking of how they were drifting to the bottom of the Atlantic as they spoke. He wondered distantly if they had hit the bottom yet, and the thought gave him shivers.

The ocean was unnervingly massive... He would really rather not die in it.

"That was a good idea," Hermione said, interrupting his bleak thoughts, "Good thinking."

"This whole scheme was a good idea," Draco returned, and he meant it. Despite the simplicity of the plan, it instantly gave hundreds of people a fighting chance to survive.

"We should hurry," she said, wiping her hands on Lottie's uniform and looking worriedly to the horizon, "Horace can't find out I'm not actually there, and we still need to grab your clothes."

"I can go on my own," he said, "I know the way."

"I can't just leave you to finish the mission all alone," she shook her head.

"We already finished, the rest is easy," Draco rationalized, shrugging, I'm not Potter or Weasley. You don't have to hold my hand through everything."

"I don't know," she hesitated, wringing her hands, looking from him to the first-class quarters.

"Just go, Hermione," he ordered, "Lottie needs you more than I do."

With the mention of Lottie needing her, the indecision in her eyes cleared away.

"Okay," she said, and reached out to pull him into a hug, "good luck."

"When … uh- When should we meet again?" He asked, momentarily distracted by her warm curves pressing deliciously into his chest.

"As soon as I can break away. I'll come to find you," she said in his ear, "Don't come to me. It's too dangerous."

"Alright, but if you're not with me by dinner I'll have no choice," he warned and she pulled away, giving him an incredulous look.

"It won't take me that long," she told him, "after this morning I'm going to stop the Annabelle act. I'll do what I have to do to get away and focus on the mission."

"And what is the plan, exactly?" He asked.

"I'm hoping one will come to me."

"Bloody Gryffindors," he smirked down at her, "always flying by the seat of your pants."

"Shut it," she said, standing on her toes to press her lips to his. His toes curled and he drew her in closer, relishing in her scent and taste. Merlin, it felt as though they had been crafted for one another. They were two puzzle pieces that didn't seem like they would fit until you put them together, and the crests and valleys of their edges met perfectly in tandem.

He couldn't believe how his life had so irrevocably changed in just three days. He couldn't believe that the curse he had been running from had found him anyway. Had it really been only three days that he had held a wand against her temple, threatening to take her life?

Much too soon, Hermione pulled away from him. His lips felt offensively cold in the icy wind, and she gave him a tight smile.

"Sorry, I should go," she said, "we'll be able to… spend more time together once all of this is over and we're back home."

He swallowed, suddenly feeling hollow. He had no foolish notions that this would continue on after they had escaped this bloody ship. There was no going back from the twisted reality he had found himself in. He would probably end up in Azkaban.

"Right," he murmured, watching her retreating form, "back home."

. . .

Hermione could sense that something was gravely wrong the moment she peered in through her bedroom porthole. She had expected to find Lottie wrapped snugly beneath her comforters, shielded from view as Horace napped quietly in the corner, his novel resting against his chest. What greeted her left a horrified pit in her stomach.

The room was empty. Horace was nowhere to be found, only his upturned chair and abandoned novel evidence he had been there in the first place. Heart pounding in her ears, Hermione's gaze scraped down to her bed to find it utterly abandoned. The comforter had been thrown back and the sheets were a tangled mess.

No… Oh, Merlin. No.

He must have discovered that Lottie had been posing as her! No! She tried to find any sight of the maid, but she must have been dragged into the sitting room. With trembling hands but a determined heart, Hermione reached out and pulled open the window before hoisting herself up and inside. She wouldn't let Lottie go down for her mistakes. She would own up to what she had done, even if it meant getting hurt.

In the back of her head, she considered running back down to Draco and asking him for help, but she knew that time was of the essence. Who knew what kind of fuery Horace was subjecting Lottie to, or Merlin Forbid anything worse.

She lowered herself gently onto her desk and clambered down onto the wood floor. She tried her best to keep her movements silent, but after staying awake for yet another night, it was safe to say that Hermione Granger was suffering from sleep deprivation. Her muscles didn't want to listen to her, and every cell in her body cried for rest, but the panic and adrenaline raged inside of her.

"I don't want to hear any more lies, do you hear me, girl?" Horace's menacing voice floated in through the cracked door. "Where is Annabelle?"

"She didn't tell me!" Lottie cried, and Hermione could tell that she was sobbing, and probably had been for a while. Guilt enveloped her, and she struggled to keep her own tears at bay. It was her fault her dear friend was being yelled at. "I promise, I don't know."

"Why do you continue to disobey me, Lottie?" Annabelle's mother was awake, too.

"I didn't want to," the maid pleaded, and Hermione crept across the room until she was pressed flush against the wall. It seemed as though they were simply questioning her, which gave the young witch a bit of relief. She had expected screaming and shouting, dishes and chairs being thrown about in Horace's fit of rage. This was manageable. She just had to wait for the right moment to reveal herself and take the blame.

"After all that I've done for you," Martha sighed cooly, "and this is how you thank me."

"I'm sorry, Madame," she sobbed, "please. Please. No more."

An alarm bell started ringing in the back of Hermione's head. No more? No more what?

"You've had enough when I say you've had enough," Horace growled and Lottie cried out in pain. Her heart skipped a beat. No.

With trembling hands and her heart pounding in her ears, she maneuvered herself until she could look through the cracked door. Lottie and Horace stood before Martha, who sat perched on the love seat, a look of cool indifference on her face as Horace had one of his fists tangled in Lottie's curly blonde hair and the other wrapped roughly around her jaw. Tears streamed down the maid's face and Hermione could tell she had been beaten. Her lip was split and blood dribbled down onto his hand. She hovered a few inches in the air, and he gave her a rough shake.

"Where is she?!" He shouted in her face, and Lottie screamed in horror.

Hermione's vision went red. The air crackled and sparked around her. Her blood sizzled in her veins, and the hair on her head seemed to defy gravity as she burst forward into the room. The door tore roughly from its hinges and launched across the living space, crashing loudly against the wall opposite of her and shattering.

"I'm right HERE!" The witch cried, throwing her hands out. A violent, surging aura tore from her core, hurtling towards Horace. The old man barely had enough time to turn and glimpse her before the rogue magic had thrown him backward and slammed him violently against the wall. His head hit the wood with a sickening crack and he slumped in an unconscious heap against the floor. Martha cried out in shock, reflexively falling back and shielding her face with her arms.

Lottie fell against the couch behind her and curled into a ball, whimpering in pain and fear. Hermione rushed to her side, the sudden and intense magical aura that had inexplicably surrounded her dissipating.

"Annabelle! What have you done?!" Martha gasped in horror after a few moments, "you've KILLED HIM!" The frantic tone in her voice had grown into a shriek.

Hermione shot a glare over her shoulder and whispered _'silencio'_ and twitched her finger in the older woman's direction.

Sure enough, an imaginary zipper sealed the woman's mouth shut, and a rush of disbelief coursed through Hermione. Had- had she just done wandless magic? How was that possible? Hermione glanced down at her hands, marveling at the powerful surge of magic that sparkled around her fingers. She gasped softly. Was she one of the few who didn't need a wand?

The young witch glanced at the door that had been shredded on impact, had she done that, too? She looked to Horace's form and swallowed. She had most certainly done _that_. After a few hesitant moments, she approached him cautiously.

"Is he… dead?" Lottie whispered fearfully from behind her, "what did you do to him?"

"I- I don't know," Hermione whispered back, bending down to examine the servant's pale face. She didn't remember casting a specific spell, she only remembered every cell in her body screaming and demanding for him to stop! She had wanted to hurt him to save her friend… and it looked like some dormant part of her magic had beckoned to her call.

She knelt down and studied him closely. He didn't seem dead, but she couldn't be sure without pressing a finger to his kneck to check for a pulse. She made no move to do so, as the last thing she wanted to do was touch him.

"You're not Anabelle," Lottie breathed as if finally solving some riddle that had been in her head for days. Hermione looked over her shoulder in shock. She straightened up and faced the maid.

"What did you say?" She whispered.

"You tried to tell me and… and I didn't understand... You aren't Anabelle," Lottie sat up, wiping at the blood dripping down her chin with trembling fingers, "You're Hermione."

* * *

 ** _A/N:_**

 _Holy shit, I wasn't expecting such a positive uproar on my last chapter. Sorry if I seemed a little emo in my a/n. I suffer a lot from self-doubt... I'm my biggest critic and its hard to get out of my head._

 _I still don't have an editor, so please forgive if I have any typos or if things feel more clumsy than they did in the early chapters. I have the next two chapters written out, and let me tell ya, things go 0-60 from here on out. Let me know what you think in a review!_

 _Love you guys!_


	17. Chapter 17

"You're Hermione," Lottie said, and hearing Hermione's real name caused a shiver to travel down her spine.

The startling words echoed inside of her head as she stared, slack-jawed... Had she mistaken Lottie? Had she misheard her?

"What?" She had to make sure.

"You're not Annabelle," Lottie repeated, her voice gaining confidence, "it all… it all makes sense now."

Hermione glanced nervously at Annabelle's mother. The older woman sat, crumpled defeatedly into the loveseat. As she had watched the two girls converse, her fruitless attempts to claw her mouth back open had ceased. Instead, her eyes darted back and forth between them and Horace's unconscious form. It seemed as though the reality of her situation had set in, as evident by her chest heaving from beneath her ruffled nightdress.

Despite Martha's lips being magically sewn shut, Hermione could hear what she intended to say: _You've lost it. You've gone mad! Both of you!_

"We can't have this conversation here," Hermione said. "We need to leave before anyone comes to check on us. Someone _must_ have heard something." She managed to keep her voice calm and clear, despite her heart hammering wildly inside of her chest.

The witch looked to the door, then to the maid… She took a shuddering breath when she realized the sudden turn the voyage had taken. In an instant, everything had been flipped on its head. Her plan- albeit half-baked- was out the window.

Lottie knew. Lottie had figured out the truth; her beautiful, capable, loyal friend had discovered the secret she so desperately had wanted to tell her their entire voyage.

"Where will we go?" Lottie asked, glancing fearfully at Horace's unconscious body.

"Anywhere but here."

Lottie nodded, eyes still glued to the butler as if anticipating him to sit up and continue his assault at any moment. After a few seconds where he continued to lie motionless, she moved to grip the side of the love seat and hoist herself onto trembling legs.

Hermione saw her struggle and darted forward, moving to wrap an arm around her waist. Instinctively, Lottie brought an arm around Hermione's shoulders.

With a lump in her throat, Hermione realized that she was _still_ trembling. She could have buckled beneath the heavy blanket of guilt that settled over her.

This was her fault.

Lottie had begged her not to go, and she had insisted.

"Steady, now," Hermione whispered as she felt Lottie relieve some weight upon her, and after a moment she said: "I'm so sorry, Lottie."

"I told you it was a bad idea," the maid said, choking back sobs, "I told you."

"I know. I'm so so sorry," she said, voice thick with sorrow. She pulled her friend into a hug, and the young girl collapsed into a fit of hiccuping tears. "I'll explain why I left. I'll tell you everything once we get somewhere safe."

"No more lies?" She asked, looking up at Hermione with wet eyes. Her heart squeezed.

"No more lies." Hermione said, and she meant it.

. . .

Draco made his way back into the ship like a zombie, the lack of sleep finally catching up to him. He hadn't been able to rest in what must have been over 48 hours, and he felt his mind begin to play tricks on him. He wasn't sure where the Crew corridor was, what number that locker room was supposed to be, or if he was to turn left or right. He hovered uncertainly in the second class sitting lounge, rubbing at his eyes. Even the words above the doors seemed to be gibberish.

He blinked repeatedly as he tried to decipher what the markings on the engraved plaques said. After a few fruitless attempts, he hung his head. His brain was betraying him, the fog of exhausting preventing even the most basic cognitive function.

Maybe he should have asked Hermione to come back down with him, but he hadn't wanted to seem incompetent like Potter or Weasley. He had wanted to prove to her that he was a much better companion and partner, yet now he was wishing he had swallowed his pride and asked her to guide him back down.

He looked down at his White Star Lines issued uniform and pulled at the material in chagrin. Would it really be so bad if he held onto it a little longer? It would arguably be a smart move, considering the ease of being able to travel around in plain sight. It was like an invisibility cloak.

After a few more moments of deliberation, he decided that it was simply the most logical course of action. That, and he was too tired to do anything but rest. If he wanted to be sharp enough to divert the tragedy tomorrow, he had no other choice.

With a silent apology to Hermione, Draco turned on his heel and began his trek down to his cabin. He had boldly promised himself he would never go back- as it was essentially nothing more than a watery tomb- but he _needed_ a bed.

A slight smile tugged on his face as he easily bypassed one of the gates designed to keep the third-class passengers in, opening it and slipping through seamlessly. He wished he could wait around to see the look on the poor tosser's face who had the responsibility of unlocking the gates that morning. Hermione was so brilliant- in such a simple move they had successfully ensured that everyone had the ability to get up onto the deck. The pride of their accomplishment, though small, warmed his chest.

Maybe they could do it, after all. Maybe they _could_ save this doomed vessel. Hamish could live a long and happy life in the United States, Tommy could work for his uncle and continue the family business. Sam could see his parents again.

He thought of their last encounter, a horrible, stumbling fight- for which no one was to blame but Draco. He sighed heavily. He had almost certainly ruined their image of him, and he doubted they would ever be friends again. The thought of him not being able to talk to them tomorrow doused any sort of pleased pride he had been feeling by their successful mission.

When he reached his cabin door, he entered quietly and shut it gently behind him. When his eyes adjusted to the subtle glow of the moon outside of their small, round window, he could make out Hamish's slumbering figure on the bottom bunk. The steady rise and fall of his chest indicated that he was deep asleep. Draco longed to wake him, to apologize and take back everything… but he knew the damage was too far gone.

With a heavy heart, he slipped his shoes off and hoisted himself onto his bunk and settled between the thin sheets. He was still in the stolen uniform, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Before the sands of sleep took him away, a singular thought rang out loud and clear:

They _would_ live to see the port of New York City. He would save them all, or he would die trying.

. . .

Hermione knocked on the elegant oak door before them: five quick, sharp raps with her knuckles. Surely that would be enough to get anyone's attention at such an ungodly hour. Beside her, Lottie wrapped her blanket tighter around herself. It covered her head, shielding her battered and bruised visage.

"What if she doesn't answer?" She whispered fearfully. The two glanced down the corridor, praying that it remained empty for a little while longer. They waited for what felt like an eternity- but it must have only been a few seconds- before she tried again.

"Okay. A little harder this time," she murmured to herself.

The sharp sound of her knocks rang offensively in the quiet air of the first-class corridor. She prayed that no one else would come looking in response.

"What if he wakes up and comes to find us? What if your mother does?" Lottie asked, voice pitching higher in fear.

"Lottie, please," Hermione said quickly, "we have to be quiet."

Her friend shifted uncomfortably beside her, and Hermione had to admit that she was also afraid. She thought of how she had left the two abusers: her mother struggling to open her mouth, an even mixture of fear, disgust, and loathing in her brown eyes... And Horace, who had been left lying on the ground, stone cold, no signs of stirring at any time soon. Hermione had tried to cast a memory charm on the woman before they had left, but to no avail. When she had tried to cast the familiar spell, no magic came to her. It seemed as though it had gone.

She swallowed roughly, despairing that she had managed to lose wandless magic as quickly as it had come to her. If she could manage to bring it back and learn to control it, it would be invaluable in the hours to come. Itching with anxiety, she reached out to knock again, this time for louder and longer. Her patience was wearing thin.

A few knocks in the door disappeared beneath her fist and a familiar voice greeted her: "Now what in Sam Hill could you possibly need at such an-"

A bedraggled Molly Brown halted in her exclamation the moment she laid eyes on the two girls before her. As she took in Lottie's bloody, bruised appearance, she gasped in horror.

"We need help, Molly," Hermione whispered, chancing a glance over her shoulder. Thankfully, there was no one in sight.

"Yes, I can see that you do," Molly said grimly, eyes concerned. She ushered them inside, and quickly shut the door, locking it behind her. A maid stood in the sitting room, gaping in fear as her eyes landed upon Lottie.

"Good heavens!" She gasped. "Shall I call for the doctor?"

Molly looked to Hermione, who bit her lip in hesitation. Should she? What kind of attention would that bring to them? Would it hinder her mission?

She looked at Lottie, who's eyes only reflected the hesitant indecision that she felt. Certainly, any official would believe Martha and Horace's word over theirs. This world did not seem to give the benefit of the doubt to young girls, especially when it came to family affairs.

Sensing their hesitation, Molly shook her head.

"No, Samantha. Fetch me a cloth and some water instead. Maybe there's some ice left in the icebox," Molly ordered, "it seems we have a bit of a pickle to take care of ourselves."

The girl jumped at the older woman's voice, and spun on her heel, fleeing the room.

"Thank you, Madame," Lottie murmured weakly, curtseying. Hermione couldn't help the incredulous laugh that escaped her lips. Why was she so polite, even in such horrible circumstances? She was bleeding, for Merlin's sake!

"Don't you worry bout a thing now, darlin'," the American woman said, moving closer to her. She sucked air in through her teeth as she closely inspected the bruise on Lottie's cheek and the cut on her lip. The older woman placed a gentle finger below her chin, tilting her face to get a better view. "You girls have been through quite a night."

Hermione nodded weakly, her exhaustion suddenly hitting her. It was difficult to stand up straight, and she wrapped her arms around herself as if she could hold her body up.

"We can't go back," She croaked; even her voice was losing strength.

"You don't have to. You're staying right here with me."

It was then that Lottie began to cry again.

"Oh, honey," Molly gasped at seeing the young maid's fresh tears, and she pulled her into a hug. Lottie collapsed into her, and Hermione couldn't help but notice just how small and fragile she looked in her arms. "Lottie, is it?"

She nodded against her chest, still heaving with sobs. Another stab of guilt coursed through Hermione.

"Well, Lottie. I promise that whoever did this to you won't get away with it."

Once Lottie was tucked away in one of the spacious cabin's extra rooms- after being placed in a fresh nightgown and having her wounds tended to- Molly found Hermione sitting in one of the lavish arm chairs, too tired to do anything but stare into empty space. She would have been asleep, if not for the concern for her friend.

"How is she?" Hermione gasped, sitting up straight.

"She's as good as she can be, I reckon."

Hermione breathed a trembling sigh of relief and buried her face in her hands. What on earth had that night turned into? How had she made such a severe miscalculation? She had known Horace's abusive streak, but never did she believe it would be inflicted on anyone but her.

How foolish she had been. How naive.

"Now, are you going to tell me what sorry son of a bitch put her in that state?" Molly asked, settling on the love seat across from her. Hermione dropped her hands and turned her gaze to the woman.

"Horace," she said.

"That bastard," Molly growled, "I knew he was no good."

"He's evil, Molly," Hermione admitted, tears blurring her world.

"Don't tell me he's laid his hands on you, too," she said, shaking her head in anger.

Hermione nodded, and it felt so good to finally tell someone that she couldn't stop the flood of hot tears from slipping down her cheeks. She had never been the kind of girl to allow herself to be victimized, but to be at the hands of such a horrible man had been a traumatic experience.

She didn't want to admit it. She didn't want to give him so much power over her disposition in life, but that night had changed her. The world was less bright, less kind. She was wiser to the cruelty in humanity, and she wished she wasn't.

"I'll deal with him myself," Molly said, moving to stand. "I'll go over there right now and-"

Hermione stood too, heart racing in her chest. She held up her hands, blocking her path.

"No! Don't!" She cried, "You don't want to be over there right now."

"And why's that?" Molly snapped, "give me one good reason I shouldn't go over there and beat the livin' daylights out of him!"

"I got to him first, I…" She began, and then caught herself, "...I knocked him out."

That stopped Molly, and she appraised the young girl with a keen eye.

"I see you can handle yourself," she said, nodding in approval.

"I can, and I think I may have a little too well," Hermione said, wiping at her face, "I think I might be in trouble. Real trouble."

"You? Heaven's no, child!" Molly said, "The last thing your mother would want to do is report her own daughter and tarnish her family name."

That stopped Hermione, something occurring to her.

"Then that means…" She breathed, her eyes going wide.

"They'll need to find someone to blame," Molly hinted, raising her eyebrows, "someone other than you. Someone that they would love to throw under the wagon."

"No!" Hermione gasped.

"I reckon Nicholas has a target on his back."

"You're right! They hate him! Oh, Merlin! Oh, no!" Hermione cried, clutching at her hair. She had sent him back down to third class... He was a sitting duck in his room! Certainly her mother had called on the ships' guard and reported Draco for her violent act by now- that is if her Silencio charm had worn off. She prayed that it hadn't.

The witch could clearly visualize him being thrown into some barren room with the door locked firmly behind him. Oh Merlin- Oh no! She had to save him!

"I have to find him before they do!" She ran to the door, but a hand clamped down on her wrist, halting her exit.

"Now, what in tarnation do you think you're doing?" Molly asked. "Slow your britches, child! You need to rest!"

"I'm fine, let me go!" Hermione cried, trying to yank her arm back from the American woman's steel grasp, "please, Molly. He won't stand a chance!"

"You can barely walk in a straight line," she reasoned with the younger girl, "you look like you haven't slept in days!"

"None of that matters!" She stressed, "I can't just sit by and do nothing."

"You don't have to do everything by yourself!" Molly told her, and Hermione felt a dizzy spell hit her, and she stumbled backward into the wall. "Now, look at ya! You're about to pass out. You're in no shape to be runnin' around. Samantha can be there and back before you can spell Mississippi!"

She looked at the woman, realizing that the room was indeed spinning around her. The floor teetered unsteadily beneath her feet as if the ship was being rocked by violent, giant waves. She had never gone this long without rest, and she knew deep down that Molly was right. She would be useless in this state.

"You'll send her right away?" She whispered, steadying herself on the wall.

"Samantha!" Molly called. The girl appeared in the room, obviously already knowing what she had to do, as evident by her shoes halfway on and her coat dawned over her uniform. "Atta girl! I knew your eavesdropping would come in handy one day."

The maid blushed in embarrassment.

"Off you go, child!" Molly ordered, "times a-wastin'!"

. . .

Draco sat in the Slytherin common room, lounging on his favorite plush green armchair. It was the one that he usually claimed, with Zabini & Knott typically populating the spots around him... yet, they were nowhere to be found.

The air was colder than usual, and he drew his robes tighter around himself as he surveyed the room. He was alone: the chairs, couches & tables void of any signs of life. He stood from his spot, turning in a circle to try and find anyone- literally anyone, even Millicent Bulstrode. It was eerily silent, he could pick out the characteristic sound of water dripping into a puddle at the other end of the room. Where was everyone? What _time_ was it?

He rubbed his hands together, trying fruitlessly to stimulate some warmth into his icy palms. Why in the bloody hell was it so freezing? He looked to the large, ornate fireplace. The charred logs sat in a forgotten, crumbling heap. Which useless house-elf had let it go out?

Grumbling to himself, he reached for his wand, but the pocket he kept it tucked away in was empty.  
"What?" He asked, his voice echoing ominously in the empty common room. "Where's my wand?"

"Really, Malfoy?" A feminine voice came. He jumped and whirled around. It was Hermione Granger. She was dawned in her Gryffindor robes, her wild brown curls tucked back into a simple ponytail. Her arms were crossed over her chest in a disapproving manner, but her grin was light-hearted. "You need a _wand_ to start a fire?"

"Granger? When did you get there?" He blinked, not really understanding why she was there, or why her presence filled his chest with a glowing warmth. She crossed to the fireplace.

"Don't pretend like you aren't happy to see me," she quipped, rising onto her tiptoes to search the fireplace's marble shelf. "Ah! There it is."

She pulled a small box down and opened it, revealing dozens of little sticks. She plucked one out and struck it against the side of the container. A small flame flickered to life.

"You _really_ must pay more attention in muggle studies," she said and knelt down to light the logs. The flame grew and licked greedily at the wood until there was a healthy blaze once more.

"I don't need to pay attention in muggle studies." He tried to state the objection clearly, but it came out as a murmur. He swallowed. It felt like his mouth was full of sand.

Everything felt very odd. Why was Granger in the Slytherin common room? And _why_ was she looking at him over her shoulder with that flirty glint in her eyes?

"And why's that?" She asked, standing and turning towards him.

"It's useless," he said, clenching and unclenching his fists. She began to saunter towards him, the swing of her hips captivating his attention. What was happening? Was she biting her lip on purpose? "I- erm, well I'd never need to know the ways Muggles live their barbaric lives."  
She halted, only a foot away. Without warning, her hand grabbed his tie and tugged on it until his face was suddenly inches from hers. She was so close he could see the freckles dusting her smooth skin and feel her breath against his lips as she spoke.

"Now, that's not nice," she cooed, and his stomach flipped as he watched her pink lips form the words, "it would have been useful on our little _'ocean adventure._ '"

"Our what?" He asked, dumbstruck.

Before he could get his answer, her lips were on his. All thoughts ceased, and he couldn't help his arms as they wrapped around her small frame to pull her closer. Merlin, he didn't know what was happening... but it felt really _fucking_ good.

"Draco," a man hissed from behind Hermione, and Draco pulled away from the kiss as abruptly as she had pulled him into it. His stomach rolled violently at the familiar voice.

"Father," he gasped and pulled the Gryffindor Girl behind him, as if to hide her from view. The older man dragged his icy gaze from Hermione and up to his son's face. It was too late, he had seen her.

"How disappointing," Lucius tisked, unclasping his gloved hands. "I thought you were better than this."

"Wait- it's not-"

"I think it's exactly what it looks like!" He roared and Draco flinched away from his father, the sudden outburst taking him by surprise. "You knew better! You knew better and you have still forsaken your family!"

"I didn't! Father, please!"

"You _didn't_ know better?" He snapped, rushing forward & pulling an object from his robes. A smoky orb was shoved into the young Slytherin's face. "Then what about THIS?"

Before Draco could respond, Lucius Malfoy threw the prophecy against the black marble of the fireplace, causing it to shatter. Once the trapped smoke had dissipated, a large crack in the stone was revealed. Draco looked to his father in shock, but the place where the man stood was empty. He whirled around to find Hermione- now clad in a stunning red lace gown and white elbow-length gloves- standing, frozen in fear as she gazed at the crack in the wall.

"When did you-"

"Draco," she breathed, "it's happening."

"What?" He said and looked down at himself. Gone were his robes, instead he was clad in the most hideous looking pair of tartan trousers held up by suspenders that looked like they hadn't been washed in years. The equally horrendous shirt seemed to be yellowed from the sun and age. Despite their sudden appearance, something about the garments rang a bell in the back of his mind. "What's going on?"

"We're going to die," she said behind him, her voice trembling in fear.

He looked at her, and saw the terror in her doe-like brown eyes. He followed her gaze until he realized what was happening: a small stream of water was leaking from the spot where the prophecy had shattered. Without warning, a massive wave burst from the fireplace, extinguishing the fire and filling the room with a violently cold pool of water.

"Fuck! What the hell?!" Draco cursed, grabbing onto Hermione and pulling her towards him. He didn't know why, but he had to protect her. The water rushed in, wrapping around their feet and calves. The freezing temperature bit at his skin and the cold seemed to permeate his bones. It was then that he began to tremble uncontrollably, his teeth chattering against each other.

"We failed," Hermione murmured, gazing lifelessly at the water flowing in from the fireplace. It was getting higher and higher, yet she didn't seem to notice at all. The immense current began to push Draco back, yet she stood as still as a statue. She gazed at the flood. "It's all over."

"No it's not!" He snapped, reaching over to shake some sense into her. The water level was nearing his stomach. "We have to go!"

He tried to pull her along with him, but she stood frozen to her spot. Her lips were turning blue, her skin a sickly shade of white.

Like a punch to his stomach, he realized she was dying.

"Please, Hermione!"

It was then that the doors in the common room leading into the dorms burst inward as more freezing water exploded into the room.

"Oh Salazar!" Draco cried, the water rising to meet him. It was up to his shoulders, and the severity of the situation sank in. He was about to start swimming towards her when something Hermione said stopped him.

"Wake up," Hermione said, finally looking at him. But when he met her gaze he found himself staring back at nothing more than a frozen corpse: her skin was frozen and blistered from frostbite, her eyes were a milky hue, and seemed to observe nothing before her.

"Nicholas," she said through her gnarled, curled lips, latching onto his shoulders with her shriveling, blackened fingers, _"wake up!"_

Draco shot up in bed, crying out in fear. Coughing and heaving, he vaguely registered hands on his shoulders.

"Oh dear!" A feminine voice cried. "We _must_ be quiet!"

"Oi, mate! It's just me," a familiar Scottish lilt jolted him out of his panic. He knew that voice. He knew that accent.

"Ma che cazzo?!" came from the other side of the room.

"Daaaiii per favore!" The other Italian chimed in. "Voglio dormire!"

"Sorry, he's just had a fright," Hamish said, "go back to bed, rest your wee little heads."

One mumbled a half-hearted insult before he collapsed back onto his pillow.

Draco blinked the sleep from his eyes and Hamish came into focus. He glanced around the room. He was still aboard the Titanic. It had just been a nightmare. He wasn't drowning. Hermione wasn't really a walking corpse.

"What are ye wearin'?l" Hamish asked incredulously, plucking at the white material of the stolen White Star Lines uniform.

"Long story," Draco grumbled, voice gravelly from sleep. He couldn't have slept longer than an hour. His head was pounding, and he could really use a glass of water. "What time is it?"

"I'm sorry, but we really must go," said a black-haired girl impatiently, and Draco noticed her for the first time. He vaguely recognized her, but couldn't put his finger on where he had seen her. By the looks of her clothes, she was a maid.

"This is Samantha. She says Hermione is in trouble," Hamish said, "you weren't waking up, so I had to give you a bit of a shake."

"Hermione is in trouble?" Draco asked, heart leaping into his throat. How long has he been asleep? He had been certain that she could make it back safely without him… had he been wrong? Had she been caught? Was it by guards, or maybe by Horace? Either scenario caused a hard knot to settle in the pit of his stomach.

Something must have gone horribly wrong.

"Not just her, also you," Samantha said, the urgency in her voice made Hamish's eyebrows raise.

"What did he do this time?" He asked.

"I don't have time to explain, they could be here at any moment," she hissed, "please, get your shoes on. We have to go."

"Nicholas, what have you gotten yourself into?" Hamish asked as Draco clambered down from the top of his bunk. He slipped his shoes on, jamming his toes in haphazardly.

"Does it have something to do with that uniform?" Hamish pressed again.

"Where is she?" Draco asked Samantha, the alarm bells ringing too loudly in his head to hear Hamish's questions.

"With Madame Brown," she informed him, and crossed the room to open the door. "She'll keep you safe."

"Take me there," he said, grabbing his wool coat from the ground on his way out of the room.

"Nick!" Hamish said and clamped a hand down firmly onto Draco's shoulder, effectively halting his exit. "Tell me what's going on!"

Draco tried in vain to shake him off, but his hold was too strong, "I already did, you big oaf! I told you everything and you didn't believe me. I don't have time to explain it all again!"

"Nicholas-"

"I told you, my name is Draco!"

"Madonna! Shut up!" One of the Italians snapped.

"Tranquilo!" Draco snapped at them, and turned to Hamish, shoving him roughly away. He didn't have TIME for this! Hermione was in trouble! He had to leave. "Let me go!"

At his intense outburst, Hamish retreated. Draco could see the hurt glimmering in his eyes, but he ignored it. He had tried, he really had. The ball was no longer in Draco's court, it was now up to his companion to choose to believe him.

"Please, gentlemen!" Samantha cried again. "I really must insist we go!"

"Let's go," Draco said, exiting the room without a backward glance.

. . .

Hermione sat at Lottie's side, the young girl had finally managed to fall asleep, and she watched her with trepidation. Before she had nodded off to sleep, Hermione had told her the whole truth: about Hogwarts, about Draco, about their fateful fall into the portal. She hesitated when telling her about the tragic demise of the vessel, but she knew she couldn't keep it from her anymore. It would happen in a mere 20 hours, and she had made a promise: no more secrets.

Surprisingly, Lottie had taken the news with a brave face. She had nodded and listened intently to Hermione's explanation of the tragic night. She had swallowed and squared her shoulders when the witch continued and promised that the two of them had a plan and would stop it from happening.

" _You tried to escape the first day. I should have listened to you... You already told me everything."_

" _You couldn't have known."_

" _Well, I'll do anything I can to help you two."_

" _If you really want to help me you'll rest up and get some sleep."_

She watched Lottie's face as she dreamed. Her expression was troubled, even in sleep. When would this nightmare be over? Just as soon as she had thought she'd made progress, the whole journey had taken a dark, dangerous turn. The worst part about it all was that she wasn't even the one to suffer the worst circumstances: it had been her sweet, caring friend. Hermione studied the maid's bruises, the green and yellow skin already starting to take on a purple tinge. She swallowed roughly, wishing that she had her wand so that she could heal her.

 _Although,_ she thought to herself, _I performed wandless magic earlier, perhaps it would be possible to do it again._

With a steadying breath, she outstretched her hands until they hovered inches above Lottie's face and neck. She closed her eyes, focusing on the girl below her.

" _Episkey,_ " she whispered, trying to summon the same magical energy that had burst from her core not even an hour earlier. Where had it gone? Surely it could come back!

She had done it before, she could do it again.

She repeated the incantation over and over, willing the familiar warmth of a healing spell to wash over her friend.

"What are you doing?" Lottie murmured and Hermione straightened up with a jolt. The blonde gazed at her, and with her eyes open, Hermione realized that her left eye was beginning to swell shut. It hadn't worked, she still looked worse for wear. Hermione swallowed and smiled sheepishly.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you," she whispered.

"Was that magic?" Lottie asked weakly.

"Well, it should have been," Hermione sighed, "I was trying to heal you, but I don't have my wand."

"You can't do magic without a wand?"

"No, not really."

"...but you did back in the cabin."

"I know, and I don't know how I did it or how to do it again."

Lottie turned her head until she was gazing out of the window at the sky. The morning sun would be peeking over the horizon soon, and the sky was no longer an inky black. It was a dusky purple, and soon it would be a soft pink hue as the sun would rise on what could easily become their last day. Hermione distantly wondered when Draco would arrive. Surely he was on his way by now. She took a calming breath, trusting that they were smart enough to return safely.

Lottie was silent for several moments before she spoke again: "I can't believe magic is real. It's like a fairytale."

Hermione couldn't help but smile, "yes, it is a little like a fairytale, isn't it?"

"Are you like a fairy godmother? Or a witch?" Lottie asked, bringing her attention back to Hermione. She studied her, as if she was seeing her for the first time.

"Well, technically I'm a witch, but it isn't like in the stories. Witches can be good. Most witches are."

"Is Draco a witch?"

"He's a wizard."

Lottie nodded, and then winced. Even that slight movement caused her an immense amount of pain.

"You should rest," the Gryffindor said. She clicked off the light beside the bed, and stood from her chair, moving it back to the desk she had taken it from.

Lottie remained silent as Hermione crossed to the bedroom door, but as soon as she was about to close it behind her, she heard a faint: "Hermione?"

Her heart skipped at hearing her real name from Lottie's lips, she didn't think she'd ever get used to it. She creaked the door back open, tilting her head.

"Yes?"

"What happened to Annabelle?" Lottie asked hesitantly, as if afraid of the answer, "... you know, _my_ Annabelle."

Hermione took a shaky breath, wishing she knew the answer.

"I don't know," she said honestly, "but once I find my wand and we all make it off of this ship alive, I promise I'll bring her back."

* * *

 _A/N:_

 _Please forgive any typos or clumsy sentences. Also, I hope the dream sequence felt cohesive. I feel like I can write dialogue & basic action pretty well, but the moment I get into dreamy- symbolic vibes I lose my footing._

 _Thank you to everyone who has been reviewing, it is truly what fuels me to continue this story. From this point on in the story the amount of fluffy moments will be few and far between, so buckle up friends!_

 _Review & let me know what you think! _


	18. Chapter 18

Draco Malfoy thought he knew what it was like to be pursued through the never ending corridors of the Titanic, but this instance was different. On their way up to first class- not even a third of the way there- a group of a dozen sailors had rounded the corner and began to make their way towards the two of them. At first he had thought that they were done for, but the men passed right by them, barely giving the two a passing glance.

"Beat a man unconscious, you said?" One of them asked as they hurried by.

"Yeah, and knocked a door down. It was shattered into pieces."

"It's true, I saw it myself," another one chimed in.

The voices faded away as the men made their way to Draco's cabin. He swallowed and watched them retreat, their words echoing about his mind. What was going on? He had no idea what they had been talking about. It seemed as though he was being blamed for something he most certainly didn't do.

"They walked right by," Draco whispered, glancing at Samantha, who motioned to his stolen uniform.

"They don't realize it's you!" She said, "bless your lucky stars."

"Thank Salazar I didn't return this," he murmured to himself and they pressed onward.

"Salazar?" Samantha whispered under her breath, perplexed at the strange name.

As they made their way up, a smug sort of satisfaction— the kind that draped over him like a robe whenever he knew would get away with breaking the rules— had eased his anxieties. Unfortunately though, it was premature. For not even five minutes later, a young sailor dashed towards them, a familiar wad of clothes in his hands. Draco would recognize that tacky pile of tartan and cotton anywhere. It was the outfit he had left behind.

The boy stopped before them, an intensity behind his gaze that made Draco think to himself: _this is it, they know._

"You two! Keep an eye out for an imposter," he said, his chest heaving in urgency and panic. "We found these in locker room C. A uniform was missing."

Draco and Samantha glanced fearfully at one another.

"An imposter!?" The maid gasped melodramatically after a moment, realizing that they had a part to play.

"Afraid so," the young man said, "apparently he's already assaulted two passengers. He's a third class brute that goes by Nicholas."

"That is troubling," Draco said gravely, not believing his luck that the boy before him wasn't putting two and two together, "we'll keep an eye out."

The sailor nodded before he continued down the hallway, most likely going to deliver the troubling news of a spy amongst them to the hoard of burly sailors. Draco swallowed, glancing over his shoulder. The kid was practically running.

"Let's go faster," he said.

"I agree," she nodded.

They quickened their pace, walking as fast as they could before it would be considered a run.

"Is Hermione one of the passengers that was attacked?" Draco asked, a little breathless as they climbed the wooden steps up into Second Class. He didn't believe it could be true, but he had to ask just in case.

"No," Samantha said, guiding him through the second class lounge, which was finally beginning to stir with life. The main lights were on, and Draco could smell the scent of brewing coffee. The kitchen must have been in full swing, preparing for the breakfast shift. Fuck. They were running out of time. Not only was it the final day, but he was also a wanted man.

"She was the attacker," Samantha continued. The shock of her statement halted Draco in his tracks.

"...What did you say?"

"She attacked the butler," she whispered over her shoulder, not stopping. He tried to conjure the image of Hermione taking down the massive, brutish Horace, and he couldn't even imagine it. How could she have done it? He followed after the maid, mind churning and a sinking feeling in his stomach as he realized the more important question: _Why_ had she done it?

. . .

"They'll be coming here lookin'," Molly Brown said, pulling on her lace gloves, "I have a feelin' your mama will tell them we're friends."

"What should we do?" Hermione asked.

"Well, _I_ should go to breakfast to keep up appearances," she said, opening up her wardrobe and perusing her dozens of heels. "And you, darlin', need to rest."

"But they aren't here yet," The Gryffindor said, her anxiety tightening into a relentless ball in the pit of her stomach. "How can I possibly rest if I don't know if he's safe?"

"I'm sure they'll be here any minute," she soothed, walking over to the younger girl and giving her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "Try to relax. Lottie deserves a bit of calm after what she's been through."

Hermione sighed, clenching her trembling hands into fists. She felt so trapped. So helpless… but she knew that Molly was right. It didn't do any good to panic and cause more unnecessary stress.

"Will you tell me anything you find out?" She asked.

The American woman snorted, "Oh honey, I'm sure those women will be cluckin' like chickens over the scandal. News must have gotten out by now-"

"Will you tell me if you find out, if- if he was arrested?" She asked, voice trembling, "will you come back and tell me right away?"

"Of course, dear," she reassured, "but don't make a mountain out of a molehill just yet. They could come knockin' any second now."  
As if the universe was listening for verbal cues, a short, curt knock came at the door. Hermione's heart jumped for joy.

Molly gave her a smug look that said "I told you so."

"Quick! You must answer it," Hermione urged, opening the door to her bedroom and into the front room of Molly's cabin.

"You got it, kid," she said, "but it's best if you stay hidden just in case."

"I'll stay in here," Hermione nodded.

When the plump woman left the room, Hermione gingerly eased the door closed- not all the way, of course. She needed to listen.

Another knock.

"Alright, alright! Hold your horses!" She called and Hermione could make out the sound of several locks being unhinged and undone.

"Ah, Martha! Officer Murdoch," She called, just loud enough to make sure Hermione could hear. "What a surprise at such an hour."

The young witch's heart sank. It wasn't him. She glanced at the ornate clock above Molly's bed. It was almost six in the morning. Where was he?

She could hear Annabelle's mother through the door, and the unpleasant harshness in her voice made her skin crawl even through the thick oak wood.

"Have you seen my daughter?" She asked briskly.

"No!" The American woman gasped, "did somethin' happen?"

"Annabelle seems to have been taken in the middle of the night," the Officer's gruff response came. Formal and official. "Her safe return is our first and most important priority at the moment."  
 _Maybe your first priority should be keeping track of where the bloody icebergs are,_ Hermione thought venomously.

"Oh, heavens! You mean kidnapped? Are you saying that Anna is being held somewhere on the ship?"

"Yes. By that criminal, Nicholas," she practically spat his name.

"Are you sure she hasn't just run away?" Molly pressed, voice thick with false concern and sweetness. "I know the two of them were quite fond of one another."

"That's a salacious lie," Martha hissed, "My Annabelle would _never_ get involved with a creature like that."

"Officer, you should've seen 'em, I'd never seen two kids more in love. They would sneak away to see each other at any opportunity. I can't imagine he'd ever want to hurt her or anyone. He's just a boy."

"Are you sure it's wise to be calling me a liar, Margaret?"

"I never said you were a liar!" She gave a light hearted chuckle, "Maybe you were seein' things!"

"I know he has her! He attacked us last night. He threw Horace against a wall. He tied me up and gagged me… and then he _stole_ her from her bed."  
Hermione's nails were biting into her palms. The old woman was really painting quite a picture, wasn't she?

"We have reason to believe that he could be hiding anywhere," Officer Murdoch interrupted their bickering, his patience wearing thin. "He has stolen a uniform, and could be traipsing through innocent bystanders' rooms under false pretenses."

After hearing the foreboding news, Hermione's heart dropped into her stomach. Oh, no. Did Draco fail to return the uniform?

"Mind if we take a look around, Madame?" The man's gruff voice came again.

Suddenly, the young witch couldn't breath. Things weren't going to plan at _all._ She backed away from the door as a question rang through her mind: was the officer going to force his way in to look for them? They would find her!

She glanced around the lavish cabin, there were certainly a few places she could stash away... She could hide, but Lottie definitely couldn't, as she was currently on the other side of the cabin, completely unconscious.

"Oh, well, no need for that, Officer Murdoch. Certainly no shady figures have come 'traipsing through here!" Molly forced a chuckle, "but I certainly will keep my eyes peeled."

"Let us in, Molly," Annabelle's mother ordered, voice like ice.

"I'm afraid I'm not quite comfortable with that," Molly said, voice as solid as a rock. Hermione peered through the crack in the door, holding her breath. She could see the American woman try and close the door, but the Officer's shoe seemed to block her efforts.

"The entire ship is on lock-down. Every room is being searched, Madame."

"Are you insinuating that I have something to hide?" She asked.

"If you have nothing to hide, then why not _let us in?"_ Martha hissed.

"Because it is an insult to my dignity and my pride. Not to mention it is a breach against my rights. While I'm aboard this vessel this is my space. I say who can come in."

Hermione didn't know the legal validity of the statement, but no matter the truth of it all Molly Brown would not budge. She was unmoveable. Unsinkable. Hermione loved her so much.

"Officer, I'm sorry, but you don't have to waste your time," she soothed, laying on the charm, "I can assure you there's no funny business in here. Just a proud American who knows her rights."

There was a thick silence, and the only thing Hermione could hear was the sound of her own heart beating loudly.

"If you say so Madame, but please let us know if you see something," The man said, relenting. He obviously didn't want to start a fight with the formidable woman.

"Thank you, Officer Murdoch." With a title of her head, she addressed the woman, "Martha, will I see you at breakfast?"

"No, you most certainly will not," her mother spat.

"What a shame," Molly tisked sarcastically and shut the door with a final and gratifying click.

Hermione opened the door, an unbridled look of joy on her face.

"Now that… that felt good," The American admitted, rolling her shoulder as if she had just physically punched someone in the face, and not just verbally.

"You're incredible, Molly!" She said and ran to give her a hug, "You really did it! I thought we were done for."

Molly enveloped her and rocked her back and forth, laughing.

"It's all about standing your ground, child," she said and pulled away. "If your gut talks to you, you listen."

"Hermione!" Lottie called from the other room. "Come quick!"

"Who's Hermione?" Molly asked.

"I- well-" She floundered.

"Quickly!" Lottie called again, the urgency in her voice impossible to ignore.

"It's a long story," she said and darted across the floor to fling open the door to the room's extra cabin. Hermione looked at Lottie, who was pointing to the porthole across the room. A panicked looking Samantha was waving them down, looking over her shoulder. She pointed down at the lock on the bottom of the round window.

"Oh, Merlin!" Hermione said and raced to the window, she unlatched the lock and pulled open the glass.  
"Come on, girl, let's get her in."

"There were too many people around," Samantha whispered, hoisting herself up and through the window, assisted by the two women.

"Oh no," Hermione said, heart breaking. The maid didn't find Draco. She couldn't help him escape. She looked in horror to Lottie, who was sitting up in bed, hands covering her mouth in shock.

"How many times will I have to crawl through these bloody windows," a familiar voice came, and she never heard a sweeter sound. His grumbled complaints had never been music to her ears, but there was always a first for everything.. She whirled around to find Draco clambering down from the porthole.

"Draco!' She cried.

The moment his feet connected with the ornate rug beneath him, he had an armful of Hermione Granger.

"I thought you had been captured," she breathed a sigh of relief, wrapping her arms tightly around his middle. "I was so scared."

"Well, I almost was. The entire ship is looking for me," he said in disbelief. "What on earth did you do?"

"I, erm- well," she said, pulling back and motioning her head towards Molly, who watched on in joy.

"Molly!" He greeted in surprise. "Hello."

"Hi, sonny," she said warmly, "glad you made it. Annabelle has gotten all of us in quite the pickle."

"I… _attacked_ Horace," Hermione elaborated, choosing her words carefully, as to not raise any suspicions with the American woman, who still did not know about magic. She had elected not to tell her, as it would only complicate things more on the chance she wouldn't believe it.

"Why in Merlin's beard would you do something so _foolish?"_ Draco began, but was interrupted.

"She saved me," a quiet voice piped up from the other side of the room. Hermione watched Draco crane his head to see who had spoken, and his grey eyes widened in horror. "From Horace."

"Lottie…" he breathed, dropping his arms and moving closer to the edge of her bed. When he got a clearer view of her injuries, Hermione could see him cringe. It wasn't exactly the polite thing to do, but she knew he couldn't help it. "Bloody hell…"

"Is it that bad?" She asked, looking at Hermione and Samantha.

"It's really alright," Hermione said, fibbing a bit.

"I didn't even notice it," Samantha lied.

"It's bad." Draco said truthfully.

Lottie glanced back and forth between them. She then raised a finger to gently prod her lip and then her eye, wincing in pain. Her somber expression crumbled and she began to cry.

"Hamish can't see me like this," she sobbed, "I'm hideous."

Immediately Hermione was at her side, shooting Draco a dirty look, frustrated with his lack of tact. He seemed to realize his error, but it was too late.

"Lottie, you know that's not true," she soothed, sitting next to her and brushing her hair behind her ears. "It's not your fault, and you definitely aren't hideous."

"You're lying," she cried, burying her face in her hands. "I'll never be able to face him like this."

"That ain't true. Bruises add character," Molly stated, hands on her hips, "I myself had a shiner the night I met J.J. It adds mystery and intrigue."

"I don't want to be mysterious," she hiccuped, "I want to be pretty!"

Hermione rolled her eyes at her friend's vanity, "Honestly, Lottie. You know we have much bigger things to worry about-"

Draco held up a hand in a shushing motion, and the witch clamped her mouth shut in surprise.

"Lottie," he said, voice soft. She couldn't believe her eyes as she watched him settle next to lottie on the opposite side of the bed. She was now flanked by both the witch and wizard, "I got a black eye a few days ago. Remember?"

She nodded, wiping her tears.

"Look at it now," he said, and the young girl pulled her gaze from the bed cover to his face. She studied his black eye, which had faded to a barely perceptible yellow tinge, "it looks better, right?"

She hiccuped and nodded hesitantly.

"That's only after a few days. It barely hurts anymore either," he added, his voice uncharacteristically warm. Hermione had never seen this side to him. Gentle. Caring. The only way she could describe him in that moment was nurturing. Draco Malfoy was comforting a Muggle servant. Even after all of the progress he had made in the last few days, this was something else. Hell was freezing over, she was sure of it.

He seemed so natural at it she wondered if he had any little cousins that he would look after. It may explain it. Or maybe she had simply misjudged him.

Her chest began to fill with butterflies as she studied his soft expression and the way he brought the young maid's hand up to touch the discolored skin beneath his eye. He didn't flinch away, even as her fingertips pressed against the fading bruise. "See?"

"There ya go!" Molly's bright voice came back, "give it a few days and you'll be right as rain. I don't know this Hamish fella, but he'd be a fool to let a couple scratches deter him."

Lottie nodded and pulled her hand back from the wizard's face, but still looked undeniably down-trodden.

"Well, I actually know Hamish really well," Draco said, "and I know for a fact that he fancies you too much to let a few bruises get in his way."

"... really?"

"Really. He's actually mad for you, honestly!" He rolled off, shrugging. "You're all he can talk about."

She blushed, and her tears almost instantaneously dried up. A small smile graced her lips.

Hermione sighed in relief. She looked at Draco, and he looked back at her.

 _'Thank you,'_ she mouthed, and he nodded in return.

"Well, I should get going to breakfast before they really do think that I'm up to something," Molly said, clapping her hands together and giving the group a smile. "You all deserve some rest. Please make yourself at home. Lottie, I need you to rest up so you have your strength to heal."

Lottie nodded, obviously thankful at the order to rest and recuperate.

"Samantha, I need you to forget any chores that require you to leave the cabin. You're to stay here and make sure that if anyone comes knockin' you're the one to answer, but don't let anyone in," she ordered the maid, and Samantha nodded grimly.

"Hermione, Draco, you can take my room," she said, smiling.

The witch and wizard glanced in shock at the older woman, faces immediately ablaze.

"Oh, relax you two. I have a sofa in there as well that Nicholas can take," she chuckled and strolled from the room, unaware of the predicament she had just arisen.

. . .

Draco could feel the blood rushing to his ears as he and Hermione surveyed Molly's room. Sure enough, in addition to the large, plush bed in the center of the room, there was a blue ornate sofa tucked away in the corner. They glanced at one another.

"I do really need to rest," Hermione said, a massive yawn overtaking her. "I still haven't slept."

"Me too," Draco nodded, rubbing at his eyes, "I think I managed about an hour before Samantha woke me up."

"We _must s_ leep," she said, "for at least a few solid hours. Otherwise we'll be useless tonight,"  
Draco nodded, his hands going cold, "tonight…"

"It snuck up on us," she whispered, "I wish we had another day."

"We would never feel ready," he murmured back. "We don't even have a solid plan."

"I suppose that's true," she said.

They hovered in the center of the room, glancing between each other and the bed. Hermione fidgeted, clasping her hands together.

"Um, well- do you prefer-" she began.

"I'll take the couch," he said hastily and crossed the room towards the sofa in question.

She blinked in surprise, "are you sure?"  
"Yes, I'm sure," he said, already settling down onto it. He hid his wince. It was bloody uncomfortable, but he didn't want her to take it, nor did he want her to feel pressured to share the bed with him. Even just the thought of it made his face warm.

"Okay, but only if you're sure," she hesitated, still hovering,

"Granger, take the bed."

She nodded, face turning a lovely shade of pink as she kicked off Lottie's flats. She began to reach behind her to tug at the strings of the borrowed dress when she stopped.

"Can you, um-"

"Oh! Fuck! Sorry, I'll leave," he started to get up.

"You don't have to leave, but could you turn around?" She murmured.

He flipped over on the couch, facing the back. He mindlessly studied the intricate stitch work on the royal blue material when he heard the fabric of her dress fall away. His breath hitched in his throat. She wasn't naked- he knew that of course, but even just the simple sound of her clothes dropping to the floor did strange things to him. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the impure thoughts away. It was quite literally the worst time to be thinking of such things.

Draco heard Hermione place her clothes aside, and even the soft whisper of her bare feet padding across the wood floor enticed him. Merlin, he must have been depraved. He was thankful when he heard her crawl between the covers. He laid motionless, willing sleep to come. He had wanted it for so long, but now that he had the opportunity he couldn't… As a matter of fact, in that moment he was more awake than he had ever been in his life.

It was Hermione's fault. She did maddening things to him. She had thoroughly and completely bewitched him.

"Draco?" Her voice floated across the room, raspy and soft.

"Hm?" He said, trying to sound half-asleep.

Silence. His heart fluttered inside of his chest.

"Will you come sleep next to me?"

 _That_ caught him off guard. His eyes snapped open, shocked.

He sat up slowly, turning his body and head until his gaze landed on the Gryffindor girl. She sat up in the regal bed, clutching the silk sheets to her chest. Her eyes were averted, her face tinted with a rosy hue.

"What?" He breathed, certain he had heard her wrong.

"I just-" She said, spluttering, "I feel rotten that you're sleeping on the couch and I get this enormous bed all to myself."

He couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Was this really happening?

After a painfully long moment, he found his voice: "I don't mind."

"Draco... I _want_ you to sleep with me."

His heart leapt into his throat, and all he could hear was the blood rushing in his ears.

"You..."

"Not like that!" She gasped, clapping her hand over her mouth. She shook her head in embarrassment. "I'm sorry, I mean actually sleep."

Draco stared at her, openly stunned.

"I'm really afraid. I know I shouldn't think like this, but tonight could be our last…" She took a steadying breath, "I just need you near me."

She turned his gaze to him, and he could see her doe-like brown eyes were swimming with anxious tears.

"Of course," Draco whispered, and he swung his legs off until his feet were planted on the floor. Was he dreaming? Was Hermione Granger really asking him to sleep in the same bed as her?

He neared the edge of the bed, his feet moving of their own accord. It may have just been the lack of sleep, but he felt like he was floating. She scooted over, opening the comforter to reveal the silk sheets below. It was then that he saw that she was wearing an embroidered, cream colored set of edwardian undergarments. It covered more than enough skin, leaving most of her body to the imagination, yet his mouth still went dry.

He greedily drank in what he could see: her freckled shoulders, the beautiful tilt of her collar bones… and though he couldn't see beneath the blankets, he was sure that the underwear stopped mid-thigh.

When he realized he had been staring, he averted his stare and moved to sit at the edge of the bed.

 _Get a grip, mate!_ He told himself, _you've seen girls in public wear less on hot summer days._

He spent quite a bit of time removing his boots, wondering how his life had been flipped on its head so suddenly. A week ago, if you would have told him in just a few days that he'd be sleeping next to Goody-two-shoes Hermione Granger- not to mention elated that he could- he'd have advised you to check into the nearest insane asylum.

Once his shoes were off and discarded on the floor beneath the frame, he moved to unbutton the uniform's top. He had a white, worn-down tank top beneath it, which in that era may have also been considered underwear. He left the pants on, which he felt a little guilty about- wearing unwashed clothes in Molly's bed- but he wasn't about to take them off.

When he settled back onto the pillow, the fluttering of his heart quickly became hundreds of butterflies skirting about his entire body. Why was he feeling this way? This had not been the first time he had shared a bed with a girl- Pansy's tenacity of claiming his as her own had ensured that. Yet there he was, shaking like a leaf. He prayed that she didn't notice the slight tremor in his hands as he pulled the blanket up over his torso. He let himself ease into the downy softness of the mattress, he forced his muscles to relax.

Merlin, the bed was soft. After days of sleeping on that horrible excuse of a cot back in his shared cabin, this was like lying on a cloud. He closed his eyes, urging his nerves to ease up a bit. He was surprised when he felt a delicate finger begin to trace the contours of his face: down his nose, across his forehead, tracing the edge of his jaw. He cracked his eyes open, and he saw Hermione propped up on her elbow, studying him. Her lips were parted slightly, brown eyes shimmering with curiosity and even with the dark circles under her eyes, her beauty took his breath away.

"What are you looking at?" He murmured, half-heartedly trying to give her a hard time. "Never seen a stunningly-handsome man before?"

"I don't know how I never saw it before," she whispered back, the corner of her mouth tilting up into a soft smile. "You are so beautiful."

He watched her watch him, and she continued to trace her finger along the peaks and valleys of his face. It was so soothing that it was suddenly hard not to fall asleep.

"You were too busy snogging Weasley to see it," he teased lightly, but the compliment bounced around his skull. How could she say that? She was the beautiful one, couldn't she see?

When she didn't respond to his accusation he couldn't help but raise an eyebrow.

"Were you _actually_ snogging Weasley?"

"Draco," she said, tone warning. Her caresses halted, and it was then that he realized that she probably had been running around with that git. His stomach flipped unpleasantly, the idea of that weasel putting his chapped lips on _his_ girl made him want to hit something.

"I thought you had standards," he said, a little harshly.

"I like you, don't I?" She said back, grinning, "The bar seems to be at the earth's crust."

"Rough, but fair," he relented. Hermione's admission that she liked him had completely squashed any sort of jealousy that had risen its ugly head.

She looked at him, her gaze flicking from his eyes to his lips. His heart jumped into his throat? Didn't she want to sleep? Did she want him to make a move?

Hesitantly- almost experimentally- she brought her lips to his cheek. Then to his temple. She adjusted herself until she was almost right on top of him, he thought that this position could have been dangerous.

Didn't she want to sleep?

She kissed his forehead. The tip of his nose. His chin. And- Merlin save him- his lips. It was only the second kiss that she had initiated, the others had been primarily ignited by him. She didn't seem to want to deepen their interaction into anything heavier, as she had simply moved back onto his cheek. He was speechless. No one had ever touched him in such a way: as if the act of pressing her lips to his skin was all that she needed in the world.

She took his hand in hers, and moved it up to her mouth. She kissed each of his fingers. She kissed his knuckles. She kissed his wrist. He watched her with silent fascination, how could someone so utterly breathtaking kiss him and hold him?

"You're the beautiful one," he said. He hadn't intended to let it slip, but it was like his lips had a mind of their own.

She glanced up at him, her eyes widening in shock.

"Don't look so surprised," he grumbled, "you are."

"I feel like this is a dream," she whispered back, unable to hide her smile.

"I thought you said it was a nightmare," he said, referencing their first night aboard the doomed vessel.

" _You're_ the dream, Draco," she said. "I don't know why it took coming here for me to realize, but you're so much more than I thought you were."

"...I've had to learn a lot," he admitted slowly, pushing down the uncomfortable feeling that always followed admitting his faults, "You've taught me so much."

Hermione shook her head.

"You learned on your own," she said, "all it took was a change of scenery."

Draco pondered that, and after a moment, he realized it was true. Sure, she had pushed him down the path by refusing to work alongside him while he held his bigoted views, but he had been forced to find his way back on his own. The truth that muggles- and subsequently muggleborns- had been just like him; just as sentient, as bright, as longing and full of life that he was… it had been a hard pill to swallow, but he had no choice but to force it down. The programming of his father had already been waning thin when he had heard of his prophecy, yet the glaring truth of it all had been impossible to turn away from.

She gave him another kiss, this one deeper and more passionate than the last. He felt a stirring in his bones, and he wished to prolong it. He wanted to take her in his arms, to hold her and kiss her until they were the last two beings in the universe. He wanted to forget about Hogwarts. He wanted to forget about his father and their complicated past. He wanted to leave their world- their time behind.

When she broke away, they both paused to catch their breath, gazing deep into one another's eyes. Brown met silver, and he could see the same shimmering passion in hers that he felt flickering inside of his heart.

"Let's stay," he blurted, "we don't have to return to our time. Fuck Hogwarts. Fuck England. Fuck the future."

She stared at him, speechless.

"Draco…"

"We could." He explained, sitting up. She sat up, too, watching him with hesitant eyes. "We could save the ship and _stay_. Dock in New York. Work and live… Together."

She gave him an incredulous look, _"You_ would want to work?"

"I would!" He said, gathering her hands in his, "if that meant we could be together."

She stared at him and then down at their interlocked fingers.

"We couldn't just abandon our friends and families."

"I could," he said truthfully. Sure, he would miss his mother, but there was nothing left for him there. Not when he could have what was before him then: the most incredible, intelligent, and beautiful creature he had ever laid his eyes on.

She studied him, trying to see some sort of unspoken truth. She took a deep breath.

"Let's rest," she said, breaking their hold and gently pushing against his chest, "you're tired. You aren't thinking clearly."

"I am," he said, gripped with a sudden intensity. He needed her to believe him. He didn't lie down, instead he took her chin gently in his hand. "I would stay here with you."

She smiled weakly, eyes filling with moisture.

"Draco, let's talk about this later," she whispered, "we need to sleep. We have a mission, remember?"

"Okay..." he relented and dropped his hand. He let her press him into the bed with a gentle palm. She settled down and curled into this side, her head resting on his chest. Her brown hair tickled his chin, but he didn't mind. She smelled so good, and Merlin, was she soft. He wrapped his arm around her, and he reveled in how perfectly they seemed to fit together. It was truly like they were meant to be together.

They melted into one another, their hearts beating in tandem. He was inches from sleep when he heard her voice, rousing him from the edge of slumber.

"Remember how I said no one could do wandless magic?"

He grunted in confirmation.

"I did it," she whispered, "I forgot to tell you, but that's how I stopped Horace."

After the shock from her admission faded away, he smiled and drew her in closer, "of course you did, you bloody show-off."

* * *

 ** _A/N:_**

 _You would think a pandemic would be the perfect excuse to hunker down and write, right? Wrong. I am sad & unmotivated. Hahaha. This chapter had been waiting a while to be edited, and I finally felt inspired to finish it. Please forgive the inevitable typos. _

_I know three months is a long time, and I'm sorry. I wanted to update at least once a month, but it seems like life has other plans for me._

 _Please leave me a review and let me know what you think. This was certainly my favorite chapter to write so far. Enjoy one of the last quiet moments in this fic, hahahaha._


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